Advance The Phoenix
by Rachelme177
Summary: Year 7 sequel to Follow the Phoenix. Harry & Albus have made Horcrux hunting a family sport. Add a secret plan to elope, Voldemort's obsession with taking Harry alive, and Snape deciding to 'be nice', and it promises to be an interesting year. H/G
1. Destination London

**Advance: to progress; to move toward completion; to further, help to progress.**

This story is a sequel to Follow the Phoenix. If you haven't read it, you might be able to piece together what you missed, but why? Obviously, you like to read, so why not just check that one out first? Go ahead, I'll wait. … All caught up? Then let's continue.

Harry and Albus have spent the last year building their new family (including Albus' brother, Uncle Abe). They are finally working together, and they have a plan: find and destroy the three remaining Horcruxes. Problem is, that's easier said than done. Add a secret plan to elope, Voldemort's new obsession with taking Harry alive, and Snape deciding to 'be nice', and it promises to be an interesting year.

As I mentioned about 38 times last story, I don't own Harry Potter and friends, I just borrow them from time to time. Also, any reference to The Prophecy – whether directly quoted, paraphrase, or just mentioned, is of course taken from the prophecy given in Chapter 37 of Order of the Phoenix. I'm pointing that out now so I don't have to constantly do it later; it's going to come up a lot.

Just a reminder – Follow the Phoenix branched away from canon after Chapter 2 of Half-Blood Prince, although other elements were incorporated; and Deathly Hallows is almost completely ignored. Meaning, the stone in the ring was just a big, ugly ruby. Oh, and if you didn't read Follow, even after I gave you the time to do so, you really need to know that Harry is NOT a Horcrux any more, even though Voldemort thinks he is.

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_**Our story begins on a train ...  
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**1. Destination: London**

In the Muggle world it was just another work day, but in the magical world it was homecoming. By the end of the day, parents would be reunited with their children; some worried that they would no longer recognize their babies, some lamenting the loss of their 'empty nest', but all relieved the children had survived another year and happy to have their families whole again.

On a scarlet train hours outside of London, those same children were mostly thinking of the friends they would soon be leaving, as opposed to the family they would be joining. So as the train steamed its way closer to its destination, they wanted to spend as much time with their friends as possible. The small group gathered in one particular car was no exception.

It was for this reason that Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott, who had spent most of the trip surrounded by Gryffindors, excused themselves to go spend some time with Hannah's Hufflepuff friends. Since Ron Weasley had already left for prefect rounds and Hermione Granger was visiting her friend Terry Boot, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley found themselves suddenly and thankfully alone.

Harry and Ginny had spent much of last summer growing their acquaintance into friendship, and then into even more. They had officially been a couple for almost a year now, but the thrill of being together was still there. So much so that they looked forward to having alone-time as much as they had in the beginning. And so, once the others had left, they wasted little time getting cozy; though of course not as cozy as they would have liked. Harry and Ginny were both well liked, and thanks to their well-publicized parts in protecting Hogwarts during the ill-fated invasion this past May, they were more popular than ever.

The down side to this popularity was that every time they got _comfortable_, more friends would invariably stop by. The couple was eventually forced to admit defeat, and Harry awkwardly bunched his robes across his lap as yet another knock came from the doorway. Several visitors later, while some Ravenclaw DA members were making an appearance, the couple realized that one of their closest friends had yet to make an appearance. As their visitors finally left, Ginny decided to go find Luna. Giving Harry one last kiss she slipped out, closing the door behind her.

For the first time since the trip had started, Harry found himself alone. He took advantage of the quiet to do some serious thinking, leaning his head against the window but not really watching the scenery fly past. It seemed to him that they – they meaning his close-knit group of friends – had accomplished a lot this year, and he wasn't even counting academically. Aside from the obvious thwarting of another of Voldemort's plots, they had saved Professor Snape from a certain death as a result of the git's stupidly conceived Vow. And while his friends had continued Dumbledore's Army, Harry had begun working with Order members learning to fight like an Auror, thus increasing his odds of not only winning but also surviving the war exponentially.

More importantly, Harry and Albus Dumbledore had made real progress in returning Tom Riddle to mortal status. Seven pieces; that's what the lunatic had done to his soul in his bid for immortality. He had split his soul so many times, he truly wasn't human anymore. But old Tommy boy hadn't counted on Dumbledore figuring out his fanatical scheme. And Harry intended to have all the Horcruxes destroyed with Voldemort none the wiser. When they faced each other for the final time, Voldemort would think himself untouchable, which would lead him to make mistakes. To borrow a quote Dean Thomas liked to use, 'his overconfidence would be his weakness.'

They were, by Harry's count, half way to their goal. Three Horcruxes were no more. The first to be destroyed had been the diary, and that was way back in his Second Year. Knowing what he now knew about Horcruxes, it was rather obvious what it had been. Perhaps Voldemort's true anger with Lucius Malfoy stemmed from the fact that the man had given Voldemort's greatest enemy a major clue to his biggest secret. Voldemort knew of its loss, and probably would have tried to replace it (so as to maintain a seven-part soul), but he had incorrectly assumed that Harry himself was a Horcrux – one whose unexpected addition maintained the magical number.

Technically, he _had _assumed correctly, for he had made Harry a Horcrux. But the bit of soul he had left in the toddler had been destroyed almost instantly; annihilated by the very love that had saved the child's life, and that fourteen years later was still strong enough to drive the bastard from Harry's body.

Turning back to the topic at hand, Harry recalled the second Horcrux to be destroyed – the family ring. Harry remembered traveling with Albus to the old Gaunt cabin, finding the ring, and returning to Hogwarts to destroy it. That had been the first time Albus had coached him in 'feeling magic', something he was hoping to become proficient in despite Albus' warning that it could take decades to master the skill. The ugly, cracked ring was currently sitting on a shelf in their private quarters at Hogwarts. Like the diary, the ring's only significance had been its ties to Voldemort's past, in this case his Mother's family. It had been one of the last remaining heirlooms of a once-great family which had self-destructed in its pureblood fanaticism.

Next to go had been the tiara. A priceless relic of the great Rowena Ravenclaw, Harry had been saddened by its loss. But the piece had been delicately made, too thin and web-like in its design to be successfully punctured by the Basilisk fang. Albus had conjured Fiendfyre which had consumed the piece, leaving nothing but ash. Voldemort's conceit had cost Hogwarts a precious treasure.

That was all well and good, but it still left three more to find. Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup, two more Hogwarts relics, were still missing. Albus believed that the locket's resting place most likely had ties to Voldemort, but the places he had already researched had not matched the setting of a dark stone chamber or cavern Harry had seen when he'd entered Voldemort's mind.

They had agreed that their better lead at the moment was the cup, which had been given to Bellatrix Lestrange to protect. Albus knew of a few places associated with the Lestrange family where a valuable object might have been hidden. Their home had, of course, been confiscated and searched after they had been sent to Azkaban, but it could bear another looking over. Over the course of the summer, Albus planned to continue scouting places of interest. Harry would only become involved if a lead proved particularly promising.

The deal breaker was the snake, Nagini. She was the last Horcrux he had made, and the only living Horcrux. The problem being, that which lives can die. Nagini had been viciously attacked by a dragon back in February, and from what Harry had seen (witnessing the attack in the same fashion he had seen Mr. Weasley's attack) Nagini's wounds had been severe. Added to that was the strange vision he'd had just last night, when he had felt Voldemort's overwhelming sadness. Nagini had not been present to comfort her master, which had been most unusual. The whole situation left Harry unsettled. If Nagini died would Voldemort feel compelled to create a replacement Horcrux? And if so, how would they know what it was?

Harry shut his eyes and sighed. Thinking about that particular 'what if' would do him no good. He didn't want to get bogged down in the negative, like had happened last summer, so he purposely turned his thoughts to his family. Not that sorry excuse that masqueraded as family for most of his life, but the man who was family by choice and action. Albus Dumbledore. The man had found him at his weakest, closer to cracking up than he liked to admit, and had saved him. He knew that sounded melodramatic, but that didn't make it any less true. Albus had given him a real home (as opposed to the Dursley's house), had offered him unconditional acceptance, and had found him the help he needed, in the form of the Muggle doctor Tony Southwyck. A smile crept across his face as he thought of all his Headmaster had done for him in the last year. Yes, mistakes had been made in the past, but his guardian had more than made up for them.

Several months ago, their relationship had moved to a new level when Albus had asked Harry to consider calling him something more _personal_ than Sir or Professor. They had settled on Seba, which roughly translated to 'teacher' in ancient Egyptian. Harry used it on occasion, although habits are hard to break and he often caught himself reverting to the standard 'Sir'. He knew that his guardian would love for Harry to call him 'father', but he just couldn't do it. Yet. But down the road, maybe. He could definitely see his children calling the man 'granddad', and chuckled as he thought of how the man would relish that role.

Harry was pulled from his musing by knocking, and he looked up to see the Creevey brothers in the doorway. They shared greetings as Harry invited the boys to join him in the otherwise empty compartment. Although Dennis was the younger of the two, Harry found he liked the boy better than his older brother. It had been Dennis who had introduced Harry to Battleball, and the two often enjoyed recounting great wins and spectacular losses. Colin didn't share his brother's enthusiasm for the physical sport, but he did occasionally show up to tournaments to take pictures.

While the brothers were visiting, Hermione popped in briefly to prepare for her own prefect patrols, passing Ron as he returned from his. The Creevey's left shortly after that, and Ron settled into the seat across from Harry and launched into a summary of his patrols. The only truly interesting part of the story – at least in Harry's opinion – was the revelation that a contingent of Aurors were stationed on the train. None were Order members, at least not that Ron knew, but their official presence had a calming affect on the students. At least, there was a lot less hexing than normal.

By this time, Ginny had returned and had brought Luna with her. The blond girl had been sitting with some younger Ravenclaws that apparently enjoyed hearing her outlandish tales. Ginny let Harry know that it hadn't been clear if they were truly interested, or if they had been subtly teasing Luna, but either way Luna had been enjoying her audience. The four students shared snacks and played some Exploding Snap as each talked about their plans for the summer. Harry and Ginny shared a secret smile as Harry mentioned that he thought he would be returning to Scotland at some point. The happy couple secretly planned to sneak to Gretna Green and elope before school started up again in the fall.

Luna returned to her compartment just as the train approached London, passing Hermione on the way. Harry noticed Hermione's silent return and her puffy eyes, as if she'd been crying. He threw Ginny a questioning look, but Gin shook her head slightly, letting Harry know she would handle it. Deciding a diversion was in order, Ginny made a big production out of putting away her things, waking the sleeping Norbert in the process. Having been cooped up all day apparently disagreed with the dog, and he showed his displeasure by jumping out of his basket, walking over to Ron, and relieving himself on Ron's shoe.

Ron took the act surprisingly well. With a shrug, he pulled his wand and cleaned the mess. Of course, he couldn't stop himself from taunting Harry for still being underage, and Harry hoped he successfully hid his emotions. After all, Harry might have still been underage, but he had been illegally Untraceable since last September, allowing him to use his magic anywhere without consequence. Of course, he couldn't let the jab go unanswered. He rather vindictively chose to remind Ron that they could take their apparition tests together, since he (supposedly) hadn't learned yet and Ron had failed his test. Privately, Harry couldn't wait to apparate in front of his friend for the first time – silently.

Changing the subject, Harry asked Hermione if she had gotten her special assignment turned in to the Headmaster on time. She instantly perked up as she explained all the fascinating things she had learned while researching memory charms. Ron was confused, and asked why she had had to write a paper for the Headmaster. Ginny smiled knowingly as a blushing Hermione gave a rather vague explanation about being caught 'being too Gryffindor' against Malfoy. Ron would have asked for more details, but when he saw the pensive look on Harry's face, he decided to let the subject drop. Draco Malfoy was still a topic best avoided in Harry's company.

Eventually, the train slowed and pulled into the station, and everyone gathered their things and prepared to disembark. Harry had left his trunk and Hedwig behind, telling his friends that they were being delivered to his guardian. His guardian of course being the esteemed Headmaster Albus Dumbledore himself, but of all his friends, only Ginny and Hermione knew the truth – and both of them had practically figured the secret out on their own. The one thing Harry had brought with him was Norbert, and now he was having trouble getting the energetic puppy back into his basket. It was Hermione who came to his rescue, casting a light sleeping charm on the pup so Harry could carry the basket without fear that Norbert would jump out.

Harry stood back and allowed the girls to exit first, switching the basket for Ginny's trunk. Behind him, Ron rolled his eyes, muttering something that sounded like 'whipped'. Once they had disembarked they quickly spotted the Weasley family. Mr. Weasley was absent, but Bill had come in his place, looking none the worse for his brawl with the wolf-man Greyback. He stood with his mother on one side and his arm tightly wrapped around his fiancé, Fleur Delacour, on the other. To the other side of Mrs. Weasley was one of the twins, it was hard to tell which from the distance, who was engaged in deep discussion with Remus Lupin. _'Must have figured out who Moony is'_

While the students were approaching the family, Mrs. Weasley turned to respond to something Fleur had said, and Ginny pointed out that their mother seemed as frosty as ever to her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. But before Harry could respond they'd reached their welcoming committee, and he found himself engulfed in Mrs. Weasley's hug. As she moved her attentions to her daughter, Fred grabbed Harry into a hug of his own, gushing about how wonderful it was to have him home, and how they had missed him so. Behind them, Remus was openly laughing at Harry's embarrassment. Apparently, it hadn't missed his notice that Mrs. Weasley had greeted Harry before her own children, and Moony was only too happy to speculate that it had something to do with her expectations toward him joining the family legitimately some day.

As Harry moved behind Fred to greet Remus, a harsh shout caught his attention. Drawing his wand as he turned, he saw a purple flash go past his head. He immediately moved to the front of the group, preparing to send a stunner at the attacker, but he was beaten to the punch. He'd barely had time to locate the attackers – two black-cloaked figures standing at the tail of the train – when spells flew toward the instigators from no less than four locations. Only one of the spells penetrated the attackers' shields, but it was enough to send the closer of the two to the ground. Panicking, the other grabbed one of the smaller students that had been standing too close, obviously too terrified to move away. Carelessly lifting the terrified girl so her body was in front of his own, he stunned her so he could use her unconscious body as a shield.

It worked; the other defenders stopped fighting, afraid to harm the young girl. Sensing their weakness, the aggressor resumed his attack. It was obvious to Harry – and probably everyone else on the platform – that Harry was indeed his target. But the attacker was either incompetent or having trouble holding his hostage and casting at the same time, for his spells were repeatedly going wide. Harry heard someone nearby yelp, and decided it was time to end this before someone got seriously hurt.

To no one in particular he commanded "be ready", trusting that one of his friends would act. He stepped forward, leveling his wand directly at the attacker, and flicked his wand as he shouted "Levicorpus". The spell hit the hostage – which had been his plan – and her small body was yanked out of the other's arms, flipping over as it dangled in the air above her captor.

Harry heard Remus shout 'Stupefy', and seconds later it was over. Harry glanced at his friends, taking in Fred's smoking arm and Mrs. Weasley's cold glare as she continued to hold her wand trained on one of the unconscious attackers. An Auror from the train started toward the fallen combatants, but several students beat him. Terry Boot was the first to arrive, and he glanced down in disgust, spitting on one of the bodies as he grabbed for the still-dangling girl. Realizing what Terry was doing, Harry waited until the Ravenclaw was under the girl, and then released the spell. Luckily, Hermione had anticipated Harry's move and had cast a cushioning charm on the floor. The little girl dropped onto Boot, who lost his balance, sending them both to the charmed ground. Harry turned to his friend and winked, glad she knew him well enough to anticipate both his move, and his oversight.

Remus excused himself to help the Auror as Bill grabbed his mother's handbag. He inconspicuously cast a charm, and told everyone to grab hold at the count of three. Seconds later, Harry found himself under a pile of Weasley's in what he quickly recognized as his own kitchen. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Fred had arrived with Harry and Mrs. Weasley; Bill and Fleur having stayed behind to help. Mrs. Weasley sprung into action, getting a first-aid kit from a drawer as she ordered Fred to sit and remove his shirt. Knowing that a determined Mrs. Weasley was not to be messed with, the four teens quietly made their way to the sitting room where they got comfortable and relived the attack. As Ron and Harry debated the identity of the attackers (Crabbe and Goyle their favorites), Ginny and Hermione were busy laughing at Ron's initial reaction. He had jumped in front of his mother as if to protect her.

When they heard the sounds of people entering the front door, they left their sanctuary and followed the new arrivals into the kitchen. As Harry entered, he scanned the room, making note of its inhabitants. Fred was seated at the table wearing his now sleeveless shirt, a white bandage visible on his left arm. George had arrived, and was sitting next to his twin, listening to his version of the fight. Mrs. Weasley was, as always seemed to be the case, busy at the stove while she talked with Professor McGonagall. Bill Weasley was standing near the fireplace, but whether he was waiting for someone or just staying out of the crowd, Harry couldn't say.

Harry made his way to the far side of the table, where he sat down next to Remus, pulling Ginny into the chair next to him as he went. A moment later, Tonks entered the room with a birdcage dangling from one hand a basket from the other. She set Pig's cage on the table, explaining that the little owl lying in the bottom wasn't dead, it had worn itself out jumping around the cage. Harry claimed his basket and pulled back the blanket to see that Norbert was still sleeping. Ginny took the basket from Harry and held it on her lap protectively.

Mrs. Weasley was passing out mugs of hot chocolate when Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor Dumbledore arrived. As Albus took a seat at the head of the table the room grew silent, which lasted for about thirty seconds, before the six younger people exploded with questions.

Albus chuckled and held up his hand. "Patience, please, everyone. First …Miss Granger, your parents were found safe and sound outside the platform. They have been told that you were inadvertently sent to a friend's home, and that you will be escorted to your own home posthaste. I am certain you will not mind if Professor McGonagall were to accompany you, and perhaps help you to explain the situation to your parents." Once she had voiced her understanding, he continued. "Well then, I shall do my best to answer your questions, one at a time of course. Why don't you start, Mister Weasley?"

Ron, George and Fred all started again, earning another round of laughter. "My mistake," Albus chuckled. "Fred Weasley, if you please."

Ginning at his twin, George asked, "Who were the attackers, Professor?"

With an almost sinister grin of his own, Albus responded, "The attackers, _George Weasley_, were Mister Vincent Crabbe and Mister Theodore Nott, which you might have guessed had you been at the station."

As Mrs. Weasley laid into her sons for trying to fool the Headmaster, Albus indicated to Hermione that it was her turn. Mrs. Weasley quieted down to listen as the girl asked, "What's going to happen to them?"

"Ah, well, I believe that Mister Shacklebolt had them taken to a Ministry holding facility, have you not?"

The Auror responded, "Indeed we have. They will be transferred to Azkaban in the morning, pending charges. I don't know everything, but they will at least be charged with Malicious Use of Magic and Magical Attack with Intent to Harm. Mister Nott will also be charged with Abduction of a Magical Child for taking that little girl hostage."

"Needless to say," Albus added, "should they be found guilty neither will be returning to Hogwarts in the fall." Then, anticipating the question Harry was about to ask, he let everyone know that the girl, a Hufflepuff First Year, and Terry Boot were both unharmed and were safely reunited with their families. Another student, a Third Year Slytherin, had been hit by one of Nott's stray spells, and he had been treated at St. Mungo's and would be home for a late supper. All other reported injuries were of minor consequence.

Ron went next, "But what I don't understand is where were the Aurors? I thought they were there to protect the students."

Albus shared a look with Shacklebolt, before the Auror sighed and explained, "That they were. Unfortunately, for the most part they seemed to be under the impression that the job ended when the train pulled into the station. Two of them were in the front-most car with a bottle of Firewhisky. From the smell of their robes, they were well into their cups. The third was actually still doing his job, but had been held up dealing with a minor fist-fight near one of the restrooms. He came as soon as he heard the commotion."

Finally, Harry took a turn and asked, "What were they trying to do? I mean, we know who the target was" – everyone in the room looked toward him, many nodding as they did so – "but what was the plan? Surely not to kill me! And where was their buddy Goyle during all of this?"

Albus tipped his head slightly as he said, "Excellent questions, Harry. I would say that it is possible the young men had no real goal, other than to simply hurt you." Harry looked Albus in the eye, recognizing the tactic but allowing the non-answer to stand, and Albus continued, "And as far as we can ascertain, Mister Goyle was not involved. In fact, it appears he had already left the station, having escorted Miss Parkinson to meet her parents." Several people found it hard to believe that Goyle was innocent, but Harry wondered if perhaps he was. Malfoy had been the glue that held the two goons together; without his guidance, they very well may have gone separate ways. Crabbe must have turned his allegiance to Nott, while Goyle had latched onto the one person openly mourning the dead blond, Pansy Parkinson.

Mrs. Weasley came to the table with plates full of warm goodies, which were passed around the table and quickly emptied. "Now, eat up those treats and finish your cocoa so we can get Hermione home to her parents," she advised. Ron finished his the quickest, and took advantage of the silence to ask another question. "Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore, but I have another question." Not being used to speaking directly with the Headmaster, he had turned a bright shade of red as he spoke. "How did that Portkey work? I thought there were charms that kept Portkeys from working on the platform."

Albus took a sip of his cocoa to clear his throat, but instead of giving an answer he said, "I see by the look on Miss Granger's face that she already knows the answer. Would you care to enlighten your friend?" As Albus used his hand to indicate Hermione should begin, Harry had to wonder if anyone else noticed the twinkle in old man's eyes.

Hermione certainly hadn't; Harry was certain her blush was actually due to being singled out. It took her a moment, as this setting was entirely different than the common room where she normally lectured to Ron. "Of course, Professor. It's simple, really. The charms only work one way. That is to say, they stop someone from using a Portkey to enter the platform, but anyone can use a Portkey to leave the platform. The real question is, how did Bill know the incantation? It was my understanding that only approved Ministry personnel could create a Portkey to pass through the charm."

She turned to look at Bill, who was smiling. With a shrug, he replied, "It pays to have a fiancé who's part Veela."

The reactions to Bill's comments varied, from Hermione's comments that women shouldn't be objectified to Fred and George asking about the other benefits of dating a Veela. Harry wisely chose to avoid the topic altogether, instead removing the sleeping Norbert from his basket and putting him onto his lap. He scratched Norbert between the ears, rousing the pup from his forced nap. Norbert shook his head, making his ears flop, then stood on his hind legs and stretched his body so he could put his front paws on Harry's shoulders. Before Harry could react, Norbert proceeded to lick Harry's face, almost knocking his glasses off in the process.

Ginny laughed, which drew the attention of the others. Mrs. Weasley came over and gently scratched the dog between the ears, thus saving Harry from his impromptu bath. She glanced at Albus as she said, "What a lovely animal, Harry. I'm surprised your guardian is letting you have him. I would have thought he was a cat person."

Harry considered himself lucky that he hadn't been drinking or else he might have choked at what he interpreted as a veiled allusion to Albus' relationship with Minerva. As it was, Harry was left wondering how much Mrs. Weasley knew about Albus and Minerva's friendship. As he cleaned his glasses on his shirt, Ginny explained that the dog was meant to be a gift for someone with, and here she directly quoted Harry, 'room in their heart for another stray'.

It took Mrs. Weasley a moment to understand, but when she did she almost caused the dog to fall to the floor in her rush to pull Harry into a bone-crushing hug. Quite the feat considering he was still sitting. Once he was able to breathe again, he told the nearly crying Mrs. Weasley, "Ginny has told me how lonely you get when she and Ron are at school. Hagrid had all these pups to find homes for, and I figured you could use the company. I called him Norbert once, and the name seems to have stuck. I hope you don't mind. Oh, and he's house trained already, and Hagrid tells me he also likes a strong ale."

"Well then," she said, seemingly ignoring the last part, "I should probably take Norbert here outside to do his business. I'll just be a few minutes." She leaned down to kiss the top of Harry's head, then Ginny's too, and conjured a collar and leash as she and Norbert left the kitchen.

Professor McGonagall took that as her cue, and before long everyone had said their goodbyes to Hermione and the two witches had left. Dinner was served shortly thereafter, but Harry had a hard time enjoying the scrumptious meal. Whenever Mrs. Weasley was out of earshot, the brothers ribbed Harry for kissing up to his future mother-in-law. _'If only they knew.' _Even Bill, who hadn't seen how close Harry and his sister had become had joined in. At one point, Harry had looked to his guardian for help, but the old man was pointedly ignoring the young people, seemingly absorbed in conversation with Kingsley, although their matching smiles somewhat ruined their act.

When everyone's stomachs had been filled, Mrs. Weasley took her youngest two and headed for the Burrow while the twins headed back to their shop. Now that Harry was basically by himself, he sagged onto the table top. The day's excitement had caught up with him, and he was looking forward to his cozy bed back in the Headmaster's Quarters at Hogwarts. But when the fireplace flared to life, and he saw who stepped out, he knew he wouldn't get home anytime soon.

****end chapter****

**Notes:** Ah, the obligatory recap. About the Star Wars reference - I stopped myself from using it as long as I could. Really I did. But it just _fits_, ya know?

And in case you didn't already know this, reviews are welcome. Especially if you like the story.


	2. Never Forgets

Reality Check – I checked my bank account today. Still only $17.25 in there, so I'm definitely not making any money off this stuff.

_PLEASE NOTE:_ Forgot to mention in the last chapter; I'm too old to learn new things, so all my measurements are in 'American' and not 'British'. Sorry if it confuses you. If it's any consolation, I'm making a greater effort to use words like 'trousers' when I would normally say 'pants'.

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**Chapter 2. Never Forgets**

When the first sounds of the floo activating reached Harry's ears, he sat straight in his chair, all thoughts of sleep forgotten as he watched to see who was arriving. His curiosity was quickly sated.

Arthur Weasley stepped gracefully from the floo and immediately moved to the side, allowing for his companion to follow. As the new arrival dusted his cloak, Harry took a moment to look him over. He was of average height, probably around six foot even, but appeared taller due to his thin frame. He was dressed in muted colors – grey slacks and shirt under tan robes. His dark brown hair was cut short, accenting his neatly trimmed mustache and deep blue eyes. He moved away from the fireplace, appearing perfectly at home in a place Harry knew he had never visited before. Harry had the feeling there was more to this man then met his eye.

Albus arose from his place at the table, setting aside the paper he had been perusing, and warmly greeted the man. Turning to the room, he announced, "Edgar, may I introduce Mister William Weasley, Mister Remus Lupin, and of course Mister Harry Potter. You no doubt know Mister Shacklebolt and Miss Tonks." The old man had gestured to each as they were named, and Edgar dipped his head in greeting. Albus continued, "My friends, I present Mister Edgar Lacer, an Unspeakable with the Department of Mysteries."

The new man apparently did know Shacklebolt, and he moved to the Auror to speak with him. Albus, meanwhile, had motioned for Harry, and the boy had stepped closer to his guardian. Arthur Weasley had also moved closer, enthusiastically greeting Harry, who had turned an interesting shade of red. Harry still recalled the last time he had been in Mr. Weasley's company, when he and Ginny had been caught in a deserted classroom after curfew and been subjected to that embarrassing conference with their families.

Arthur chuckled as he recognized Harry's discomfort, but quieted as he turned his attention back to the Headmaster. "Albus, I destroyed the note after showing it to Edgar, as is protocol, but before doing so, I …ah, I couldn't help but notice that it wasn't written in your normal handwriting." He glanced at Harry, who was if possible getting redder, then looked back to a nodding Albus. "And now," he continued, "I find myself wondering if this has anything to do with your strange advice that in the event of your death I should speak with Harry _in secret_."

Albus continued to nod smile, his eyes sparkling with merriment, as he responded, "Ah, yes, well there is a very simple explanation, Arthur. You see, I am no longer the Secret Keeper for the Order of the Phoenix. Obviously, I cannot tell you who is, as it is no longer my secret to tell, but rest assured it is someone whom I trust with my very life."

Beside him, Harry had to bow his head to hide his face, lest any of the emotions he felt showed: pride, in knowing that Albus trusted him so; embarrassment, as Mr. Weasley recognized Harry's elevated status; and fear, that he might somehow screw up after Albus had put such faith in him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Mr. Weasley looking at him proudly. Harry started to speak, but Mr. Weasley beat him to it.

"Say no more, Albus. Now, perhaps we can get this meeting started, so I can get home and see my children. I trust Harry will be attending the meeting?"

Albus replied in the affirmative, and motioned for Harry to take the seat immediately to his right, near the head of the table. Arthur took the seat directly across from Harry, so the three of them dominated one end. The simple action was not missed, and the others quickly filled in around the table. Obviously, they had all noticed Harry – how could they not? – but it was Bill who spoke up, asking if perhaps Harry shouldn't go wait in the sitting room.

Albus casually replied, "Actually, William, his presence is most welcome here. But before we get any further, let us welcome our newest member, Edgar Lacer. Edgar met with me privately a few days ago, and has already taken The Bahatan Secret, so we are free to speak our minds."

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked from Harry, to Albus, then back again, and it appeared he was going to speak when Harry interrupted him. "It's alright, Mister Shacklebolt, I've already taken the vow."

Albus chucked as he patted Harry on the shoulder. "None of that now, Harry. Everyone in the Order is on a first-name basis."

Harry grinned like a cat cornering a mouse as he asked, "Oh, so I get to call Snape, I mean _Professor_ Snape, Severus now?"

The rest of those present, with the exception of Arthur Weasley, watched in disbelief as the teenage boy bantered with his Headmaster – and their Leader – over the wisdom of addressing the prudish (Harry's word, not Albus') Snape by his first name. Albus easily convinced Harry that to do so could be detrimental to his continued wellbeing. That settled, he brought the meeting back to order, and explained that Harry had in fact been an Order member for a while now (since last summer, not that they needed to know the exact timeframe). It was lucky for Harry that the small group present was comprised of some of his greatest cheerleaders, as only token resistance was given. But of course, Albus had final say, and as he put it, 'the dragon's already eaten the goats'. Harry assumed that was the man's unique way of saying 'what's done is done', but secretly wished he had chosen a phrase with less pessimistic imagery.

The first item discussed was the attack on the train, and Harry got to hear what Albus had been unwilling to say earlier. It was suspected that the two boys – both children of known Death Eaters and one-time friends of Draco Malfoy – had acted of their own accord in a misguided attempt to prove their own loyalty to the Dark Lord. Harry wondered if the two boys hadn't known that he was to be left alone, but Remus thought it more likely that they had decided Malfoy was lying about the order, given his defection to Harry's side.

Harry sipped his hot chocolate (Tonks had made some fresh for the meeting) in hopes to settle his stomach as his mind once again called up the vivid details of Malfoy's death. Albus noticed his discomfort, and quickly wrapped up the discussion by asking everyone to keep their ears open at the Ministry for news regarding the two boys and their upcoming trials.

Professor Snape's name was brought up again, this time in connection to his Unbreakable Vow. As Harry understood it, the vow was supposed to have been a secret, but it turned out it had been a rather poorly kept one. The majority of those present had expected the man to die, but Harry was surprised to hear that Tonks had expected Snape to actually attack Albus. Or maybe not such a surprise – she had been one of his students, after all. It was of course obvious to everyone that Snape had somehow circumvented the vow, but no one knew the details.

Albus gave Harry a sympathetic look before explaining to the group that it had been the teen who had saved his professor. Even Arthur was taken by surprise at the revelation, for Harry's dislike of his teacher was well known. For his part, Harry tried to give a simplified version, but the adults all had too many questions and were unwilling to accept half-answers. And so, like he had done with his friends weeks ago, Harry told his tale, from finding the loophole in the vow to becoming Draco Malfoy. Everyone laughed as he described how he had put himself down, and again when he replayed how he (as Malfoy) had degraded the Professor. But perhaps the biggest laughs came when Harry mentioned how he had been forced to speak negatively about the Headmaster, calling him 'Dumbledummy' and a 'barmy fool of a Headmaster'. Harry was relieved to see Albus laugh along with the rest, and he laughed himself when Albus admitted that Minerva had called him much the same on many occasions.

As the crowd settled back down, Harry noticed what he hoped were looks of approval from many of those present. He had known that Remus and Tonks would not have a problem with him being in the Order, and was pretty sure about Shacklebolt – _'Kingsley, remember?'_ – as well. After all, the three of them had been responsible for the majority of the private training he had been getting since February. They knew firsthand not only that he was capable of fighting this war, but also his dedication to doing so. Arthur and Bill Weasley, on the other hand, had been unknowns, so Harry was relieved to see that they, too, seemed to have accepted him. In a way, his mission to save Snape had been his initiation into the Order; its success could not be questioned by any of the other members. Granted, Harry believed that his escape from the graveyard alone should have gotten him into the Order, but now that he _was_ an acknowledged member, he supposed he could refrain from mentioning it.

It was during the discussion of Harry's mission, and the invasion in general, that Kingsley gave some rather unsettling news. It seemed that the Death Eaters that invaded the school in May had had a back-up plan. Someone inside the school had definitely helped three of them escape. This meant that either one or more students were involved, or there had been at least one unknown invader. Kingsley was still leaning toward student involvement, and today's attack certainly lent credence to his theory.

However, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the real answer lie in the other option – an additional invader. They were certain they had accounted for everyone that entered the school through the Room of Requirement, but that wasn't the only way in. After all, his own godfather had been able to sneak into the school using the hidden passageways. Looking around the room, he noticed Remus was deep in thought; a good indication he was remembering the same.

He decided to go for it and speak his mind. "I think we should consider there was another Death Eater … one who came in a different way. Like maybe through one of the passages. You know, like Sirius did. We know there's at least one Death Eater that's real familiar with the passages. And he can hide in plain sight, too."

Remus was instantly nodding his agreement, and after some debate, Albus decided to post sentinels at each passageway. He reasoned that whether they had been used for the invasion or not, guarding them was a good idea. Harry considered it a sign of his new maturity that he gladly gave up use of the passages if it meant keeping the school and her students safe.

That topic having been exhausted, Albus turned to the newest member, "You know, Edgar, we don't stand much on formality here, so please feel free to jump right in with anything you have."

Edgar, the Unspeakable, had been quietly sitting at the opposite end of the table, next to Bill Weasley and nearest the kitchen door. As all the heads turned to him, he straightened in his chair and confidently spoke in a loud, deep voice. "As Albus has already mentioned, I work as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. In fact, I was one of the first to arrive after last summer's incident. Saw first-hand the battle damage." His gaze quickly shifted to Harry (who held his ground as he returned the look) before moving on. "I had known of the existence of the prophecy, and like many I can guess what it might have contained. In fact it was I that confirmed its existence and destruction to Minister Scrimgeour. But that is not why I am here."

He looked briefly toward Arthur Weasley as he explained, "I have known Arthur since our Hogwarts years. I was in his year, though in Ravenclaw, but he and I shared a love of all things Muggle, and soon a friendship was forged. We even snuck into a nearby Muggle town one weekend and tried to pick up girls – remember that one Arthur?"

Watching the red spread across Arthur's face, Harry realized where Ron and Ginny had inherited the trait. Next to Edgar, a shocked Bill Weasley was looking between the two, clearly wanting to hear that story. Arthur, however, must not have wanted the story told, because he was quick to turn the topic back to business.

"Ah yes," Edgar agreed, "to business. For many years now, Arthur has shared his views with me, and of late, I find that I believe his versions of recent events far more so than the Ministry's official story. After the break-in a year ago, I started to discretely pass information to him that I thought might be useful in the fight against Voldemort. The real fight, not that farce that the Ministry is putting on." See two Aurors sitting nearby, he hastily added, "present company excluded, of course."

Tonks brushed it off, and admitted that most Aurors agreed with his assessment of Scrimgeour's regime; Kingsley silently nodding his agreement.

Edgar continued, "After the invasion of Hogwarts, I decided it was time to take a more active stance. Even though my only daughter is already finished with school, just the idea that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had such blatant disregard for the safety of our children quite honestly terrifies me in a way that nothing else he has done can." At the opposite end of the table, Harry perked up. He could think of lots of things more terrifying than some Death Eaters in the castle, but kept his peace as Edgar went on. "Please don't misunderstand. So much of what that monster does is despicable. But since last summer, there has been a steady increase in collateral damage. I think of the hundreds of students that could have been killed, and it makes me want to vomit! I knew it was time I took a more active role in this war."

Those around the table spoke up, offering their thanks and support, not that he could tell since their voices were drowning each other out. Harry listened as the small talk started veering off track, and looked to Albus only to see that the man didn't seem to have any plan to stop it. Not even realizing what he was doing, Harry loudly cleared his throat, and when he had the room's attention, he pointedly asked Edgar is there was anything specific he wanted to report.

Nobody questioned the fact that it was Harry that had put them back on track, perhaps because Albus didn't, or maybe because they too wanted to hear his answer. In any event, Edgar reported in detail on several Ministry officials that he felt were worth investigating. Harry tuned out for part of the discussion; with him still in school Ministry matters were best left in other hands. A light tapping on his foot had him looking at his guardian, but the man was seemingly giving his full attention to Edgar. Taking the hint, Harry tuned back in, picking up the conversation regarding someone named Pius Thicknesse. The man had replace Scrimgeour as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he had taken an unhealthy interest in one Harry Potter. Rumor around the Ministry was that he was planning to officially question Harry regarding the activities at Privet Drive the night of the school invasion.

Albus brushed this worry aside, assuring the group that he had personally discussed the matter with the Minister, and there would be no questioning of Harry in connection to _any _events of that night. The finality of the statement eased some of Harry's tension, although he couldn't help but notice some of the others didn't seem as reassured. With a twinkle in his eye, Albus pointed out that there had been no report of underage magic on Privet Drive; therefore Harry, an underage wizard, must not have been involved. It was obvious to everyone that this was the final word on that particular subject, and they swiftly moved on.

Unfortunately for Harry, _he_ was the next topic. Albus reminded those present that, despite everything that had been done to protect him, Harry had been captured by the Death Eaters and successfully removed from Hogwarts. He reminded them that Harry's safety was a top priority for the war effort, and by extension for the Order. He repeated his message from before the invasion: if Harry was captured, he must be rescued. As he spoke the command, his voice had turned harsher, his face losing its softness to reflect the seriousness of his message. Many around the table looked as if they wanted an explanation, but none were brave enough to ask for it. Albus' gaze moved around the table, looking each person in the eye as, one by one, they either nodded their heads in agreement or looked away. Harry couldn't help but feel that this would come up again.

Finally, Albus was done doing, well, whatever you called what he was doing. With a clap of his hands, he announced that their last item was just a bit of housekeeping. "In light of the recent attempt on my life, I deemed it prudent that certain precautions be met. As you all know, I have asked Arthur Weasley to take up the mantle of leader of the Order should it be necessary, and he has graciously accepted. What you do not know is that I have also decided that the secrets of the Order must not be allowed to be lost, and so I have passed the torch. There is a new Secret Keeper, whose identity is being safely guarded for the time being. This person will make themselves known should the need arise. I believe Arthur, you are already aware of his or her identity? … Excellent, then I believe we are done."

Harry stayed in his seat watching the others as the meeting adjourned, not sure what he should do next. Kingsley had quickly said his goodbyes, moaning that he had to get back to the Ministry to finish a cauldron-full of paperwork before the morning shift. Down the table, Remus and Tonks had pulled Bill Weasley aside, and the three were engrossed in whatever topic they were discussing. Remus and Tonks, Harry noticed, were standing so close their bodies were touching, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Over by the stove, Albus and Edgar looked to be engaged in frivolous small talk, judging by the smiles and hand gestures. Feeling eyes on him, Harry looked across the table, and found Arthur Weasley watching him, an undecipherable look on his kind face.

Embarrassed by the close scrutiny, he rushed to say, "Thanks for accepting me, Mister Weasley."

Before he could go any further, Arthur held up his hand to stop the boy. "Didn't you hear Albus, Harry? It's Arthur, and I know Molly will feel the same, even if she isn't quite so understanding of your being in the Order. Besides, you're practically family."

The elder red-head cracked into a wide grin, and Harry wondered if their secret had gotten out; but no, Mister Weasley – Arthur – was being far too polite. He couldn't know that Harry and Ginny planned to elope this summer. _'stop being paranoid! you're going to give the game away!'_

"Well, just the same, thank you, er, Arthur. It means a lot to me that you think I belong in the Order." Harry was genuine in his gratitude. He knew that the first time he attended a 'full' Order meeting without the benefit of his cloak, there was bound to be some vocal objections to him. Having Arthur, not to mention most of the Ministry contingency, on his side would go a long way in easing his acceptance.

Their conversation was cut short as Albus came back to the table. "Harry, my boy, you behaved admirably this evening. I am quite proud of you." Harry felt his chest swell at the praise, which in turn put a smile on the older man's face. Arthur watched the exchange with a smile of his own knowing he would have to tell his Mollywobbles how Harry was blossoming under Albus' tender care.

"I wonder," Albus continued, "if you wouldn't mind introducing yourself to Edgar. You are, after all, teammates of a sort." In a quieter voice, he gave Harry a significant look as he added, "and I believe he might be able to answer some questions you might have." Back to his normal volume, he added, "Perhaps you would like to show Edgar some of the house as you talk? I am certain I can find you when it is time to leave."

Turning away from Albus, Harry was thankful that he had gotten better at deciphering the old man's vague comments, as Hermione wasn't here to do it for him. He sauntered over to their newest member, holding out his hand as he introduced himself. Edgar, like most, did the obligatory glance to his forehead, but when he realized what he was doing he quickly apologized, and Harry warmed to the man. Harry offered a tour of the house and Edgar politely accepted. As they moved around the house, Harry told a bit of its history, and when they finally entered the sitting room, he shared tidbits of trivia about some of the objects in the room. When Edgar finally asked why he knew so much about the house, Harry explained that it was his, inherited from his godfather.

Edgar Lacer, it should be pointed out, was an intelligent man – he had to be to work as an Unspeakable. He had also known Albus Dumbledore a long time, and had in fact collaborated with the man on a few projects over the years. It had been Edgar who had allowed Albus to give a young Third Year a time turner so she could take extra classes, although he still hadn't figured out how the sly old man had talked him into it. Knowing Albus as he did, he had known there was an ulterior motive behind the man asking Harry Potter (of all people) to show him the house, and he had a pretty good idea what it was. And so, as the word 'godfather' hung in the air, Edgar shrewdly deduced that they were getting to the heart of the matter.

Seeing the teen before him visibly struggling to find words, he took pity and opened the conversation. "You want to ask about the archway, but you don't exactly know what to ask. Am I right?"

"More like, I'm afraid of your answers."

"Fair enough," Edgar replied. Spotting a comfortable looking chair, he moved across the room and sat down, noting that Harry had taken a spot on the nearby couch.

"I'm afraid, Harry, that there isn't much to tell about the archway, or the Veil, as its known in our department, that you don't already know or at least suspect. It is our best guess – guess, mind you … not even we Unspeakables really understand it – that it is a … divider of sorts, between the world of the living and the world of the dead."

Harry nodded along. "Right, that much I'd figured out, given how the room is called the Death Chamber and all. But how does it work? I mean, wouldn't it be like a doorway that you could just pass through?"

"No, not at all," Edgar responded with a shake of his head. "You're letting its appearance cloud your perception. It's really more like a … what's the Muggle word …oh, a vortex." He appeared rather proud of himself for remembering the word, but Harry was looking at him in a way that clearly showed he didn't understand.

He thought carefully before speaking. "Why don't we try this. Think of how a waterfall works. Water rushes forward, toward the edge, and once it gets there, it barrels over. Once it's done that, once it's passed over the edge, there is no going back up. It's against nature. Got it? Well, the Veil is much the same. Once something, or someone, goes through that archway, nature says it cannot come back." He shifted his gaze to the wall behind Harry, uncomfortable with what he was explaining.

"Strictly speaking, I shouldn't share this with you," he continued, "but I suppose I can trust you. See, the problem is, nothing living can return from that archway." Quieter, he added, "Whatever is on the other side, it kills." The somber words hung in the air.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and continued in his normal volume. "The first record of anyone trying to come back dates way back in the early seventeenth century. Some wizard had the bright idea of only going partially through. He tied a rope around his waist, and stepped halfway into it. Died instantly, and when his assistant pulled him back out, the side of his body that had gone in was shriveled like a raisin."

"Sounds painful … but you say he died instantly? So maybe he didn't feel anything?"

"Oh, Harry, I am sorry. That was a bit thoughtless of me. But please take comfort in knowing that all the experiments – and there have been many over the centuries – show the same thing. Instantaneous death. Rather like the Killing Curse, I should think. I know that doesn't really help much, but I truly believe your godfather did not suffer."

"You're right, it doesn't help much. It's just … Se—ah—Albus says that love is this weapon I have, which sounds all well and good, but ... to me, it feels more like a hindrance. Because I loved him, but he died anyway."

"I know it's said to death," and then he broke off and chuckled, "no pun intended, but those we love never truly leave us."

"Yeah, don't I know it." Images of his parents appearing from the end of Voldemort's wand immediately came to mind, and the tears that he'd been valiantly holding off finally started to fall. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his head down while he tried to get himself back under control. When he felt he could speak again without his voice cracking, he looked up and asked, "If it's so dangerous, why is it still there? Why not destroy it, or plug it up somehow?"

"Because then we would lose our only chance to understand death, Harry." Under his breath he added, "not that they're getting anywhere."

Harry looked up at that, a slight smile on his face. "But if you can't go into it, how can you study it?"

"Come now, Harry. Surely you heard?" Harry didn't respond, so Edgar continued, "the voices of the dead. They can be heard there; well, by some anyways. It's believed that those who listen to their hearts over their minds, those whose faith allows them to see past fact, they will hear the voices. Logical people either will not or cannot hear anything. They probably think the rest of us quite mad."

Harry laughed nervously as he remembered how Hermione hadn't heard anything, while Luna had been adamant the voices where there. "Yeah, I heard. There, er, was one more thing. I'd just really like to understand what happened. ... I mean, I know he's gone, that he can't come back; I get that. But, where is he? His body, I mean?

"I don't think we can ever answer that. But the body isn't important, Harry, it's the soul that matters. And that has moved on, I'm certain of it."

To his mortification, Harry felt the tears start again. And this time, the tears weren't just for his parents and Sirius. They were for Cedric, and an old Muggle, and even Draco Malfoy. They were even for that little part of himself that he felt he'd lost with each death. Some time later – whether one minute or twenty, he couldn't say – Harry heard Edgar start moving toward the door.

"I'll just show myself out, then," Edgar softly said, not wanting to further intrude on the boy's grief. As he left the room he was not surprised to find Dumbledore standing in the hall, apparently studying the family crest hanging on the wall. "I leave him in your capable hands, Albus. You might want to give him a moment, though. Tough young men like him don't want others to see them vulnerable." The two shared goodbyes before Edgar took his leave, and Albus turned his attention to the doorway. When he could no longer hear any sounds from the room, he entered.

Walking over to his son, taking stock of the tear-streaked face and puffy eyes, he said, "Come on Harry, let's get you home and have ourselves a nice cup of that wonderful hot cocoa Dobby likes to make." He held out his hand, and Harry grasped it with his own and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The two silently made their way back to the kitchen, and using the floo they returned to the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Within minutes, they were seated next to one another on their sofa, mugs of steaming cocoa on the table in front of them, and Harry felt his control slipping once again.

"Why does it still affect me so much?" he moaned. "It's been a year. I've already dealt with this, so why does it suddenly hurt so much again?"

Putting his arm around Harry's shoulder, he hugged his child close as he explained, "Because the heart never forgets."

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** It's important to note that Snape was not at this meeting, and he didn't hear the details of Harry's plan. Just to be clear – _nobody_ at the meeting is going to fill Snape in on those details. They all like to see Harry with his masculine body parts intact. Snape will know that Harry was involved, but not to what extent.

Remember that The Bahatan Secret was used in the last story to keep people from talking about what happens at the meeting to non-Order members.

Not necessarily part of the story, but I felt compelled to comment on the time turner. I have to be honest, I don't think Hermione was the first student to use one. Both Bill and Percy Weasley got 12 OWLS. Hermione used the time turner because of conflicts getting to 13 classes (she later dropped Muggle Studies and Divination). It stands to reason the boys would have had similar trouble taking 12. One wonders just how often that time turner was handed out.


	3. King of the Castle

Same old, same old: I don't own Harry Potter the character, the computer game, the board game, the amusement park, or the person. I don't own anything containing the words 'Harry' or 'Potter'. I have hair and I own some pots, but so far, neither has earned me any money.

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**3. King of the Castle**

It was an emotional end to a roller-coaster of a day – the joy of the train ride with his friends, the adrenalin rush of the attack, the apprehension of attending an Order meeting openly, and then the anguish of his talk with the Unspeakable. Safely secured on their sofa back at Hogwarts, Albus and Harry finished their hot cocoa in comfortable silence. Placing his empty mug back on the tray, Albus ushered the boy into bed with the promise 'tomorrow would be a new day'. As Harry awoke with those same words in his mind, his first thought was, 'well, duh'.

But as he dressed for the day, he realized what Albus had really meant. It _was_ a new day; the sun had come up, as it always did, and life continued. And strangely, Harry felt better than he had in a long time. Certainly better than he had since the ill-fated invasion. Entering the family room, he found both Minerva and Albus already seated at the small dining table, laughing over some private joke. They must have been waiting for him to begin breakfast because as soon as he appeared, so did the food.

Noticing the amused looks on their faces, he couldn't stop himself from asking what was so funny. Minerva explained she had been sharing some of the more memorable answers her First Years had given on their year-end exams. Harry was horrified at first, concerned that they had shared similar laughs over some of his own early work. However, hearing the outlandish things some of the students had written, he was soon laughing along with them. Really, how could any student think that a fish couldn't be transfigured into a candle because it would be too wet to light?

Finishing her meal quickly, Minerva excused herself, adding that she wanted to get her classroom cleaned out today. Harry and Albus bid her good day – Albus promising to send some requested paperwork to her office – before settling more comfortably into their seats. Noticing the strong brew Minerva insisted be available in the morning, Harry decided to give the coffee a try. He was busy adding his second spoonful of sugar when Albus began speaking.

"I am afraid I have a somewhat full day, leaving you on your own for the most part. Therefore, I thought it would be best if we went over a bit of housecleaning, so to speak."

Harry swallowed his drink to respond. "Of course," Harry offhandedly agreed, reaching for the milk. "I imagine I'm hiding out again?"

"Quite," Albus chuckled. "As with last fall, I must ask that you keep yourself out of sight, which unfortunately means keeping to our rooms for today. Most of the staff is finishing up their year-end work in hopes of leaving before Friday. It has, in fact, become somewhat of a competition to see who can get finished and leave the castle the quickest. I believe last year's winner was Professor Flitwick." Albus leaned forward in his seat as if to keep from being overheard. "Between you and me, I think he uses Disillusionment Charms to hide any work he hasn't completed in order to leave quicker. I have never checked his classroom for the charms, but when passing by I have noticed that it appears _too neat_. Fortunately, I have never been asked my opinion, for I would not want to appear to choose sides in that particular contest. Your Professors, Harry, take the race very seriously, only those who stay year round – and Minerva – are immune. And I'm not completely certain of her," he added with a grin.

Harry would have smiled at the joke, but he was trying to decide what to add to his coffee to make it drinkable. He opted to add a touch of cream, and as he stirred the mixture he pictured Professor Flitwick rushing around his classroom, wand flicking furiously, in an attempt to show up the other Professors. With a laugh, he agreed to stay out of the halls so the Professors could compete in peace. His smile disappeared behind his mug as he took another sip of the strange-tasting concoction in his cup. _'more sugar maybe'_ He still intended to go to Gryffindor Tower today, but there was no need to let Albus know that. After all, he had found a secret passageway to the common room last year, and he planned on using that one well during his summer stay, and maybe even find a few more.

Albus stayed quiet as Harry added yet more sugar to the coffee, not needing Legilimency to know he was plotting something. He watched as the boy stopped stirring and took another sip of his drink, taking in his appearance for the first time. "Might I say, you are looking well rested this morning. I take it you were able to find some peace in yourself?"

"Yeah, I suppose I did. You were a real help last night." Harry couldn't help but avert his eyes, choosing to watch his coffee mug as he continued. "I, well, you know Edgar and I talked about that archway in the Death Chamber. I … I feel better about what happened to Sirius. I mean, now that I know that he isn't suffering somewhere." He took another sip of his coffee, which might be what gave him the courage to look up. "Edgar said it was probably quick and painless – a good way to go, I guess. And he sort of confirmed what I already knew, that there are voices there, spirits trying to talk to us … not everyone can hear them, but they really are there, just waiting for us to join them.

"That's what he thinks, anyway," he added, with a wave of his hand. "It really helped, talking with him. And you, of course." He added with a small smile, before turning back to his coffee and adding just a drop more cream. When he'd finished stirring, he looked up and asked, "Do you think it would be alright if I sent him a thank you note? Or would it get him in trouble?"

"I think a simple note stating your pleasure in making his acquaintance would be innocent enough to pass scrutiny," Albus assured him.

Harry had taken another sip from his mug, and had to force the unappetizing liquid down to reply. "Great, I'll get right on that. Hedwig will appreciate having something to do."

"No doubt," Albus replied, "especially since she normally has so little work, and I am about to make it even less."

Harry was instantly on edge. "Please don't tell me I'm not allowed to write to my friends this summer," he implored. He couldn't be cut off from Ginny – they had plans to make.

"Relax, Harry. I only meant that you will no longer need to write to one particular friend. I believe you will remember this." With a flick of his wand, a brown-wrapped package floated from a nearby shelf to Harry's waiting hands.

Pulling the paper away, Harry recognized the shiny object as the mirror Sirius had once given him. He tenderly ran his hand over the smooth – and very much repaired – surface. Turning it over in his hand as he inspected it, he realized that one small chip in the upper corner was the only reminder that it had once been broken. He looked up to see Albus watching him fondly, and with a small smile he whispered "thank you, Seba."

"You are very welcome, Harry. I took the liberty of sending its mate to young Miss Weasley. I imagine you thought I had forgotten my promise to fix it for you; but in truth, it proved to be a more difficult task than I had anticipated. I finally admitted defeat and had Professor Flitwick help." Seeing the incredulous look on Harry's face, he winked as he added, "We can keep that little fact between the two of us, I hope. It wouldn't do for people to know that I am not as omnipotent as I appear."

Harry laughed as he agreed, and carefully set the mirror on the table before picking up his mug. He had nearly taken another sip when he realized that the strange brew had made him feel a bit queasy, and he instead set the cup away from him and picked up a piece of previously ignored toast. Glancing at Albus, he saw that he was busy freshening his own cup of tea. Swallowing his bite of toast, he broached a new subject. "There was one thing I needed to tell you about."

Having gained Albus' full attention, Harry described the 'vision' he'd had the night of the Leaving Feast; the one where he had felt Voldemort's sadness. He could tell by the look on the other's face that he too had a hard time believing that Riddle was still human enough to feel such emotion. By the end of the tale, Albus was sharing Harry's concern for the snake – not that either especially cared about Nagini, but the Horcrux they cared a great deal about. Realizing they could not solve the mystery today, Albus suggested that Harry allow him to worry over the matter. Harry readily agreed, despite knowing that he himself would continue to worry, but appreciating the sentiment behind Albus' words.

After being reminded to meet Albus in his office tonight for his weekly appointment, Harry was excused. He watched as the Headmaster left their quarters to attack the mound of paperwork that he claimed was currently trying to devour his desk. Remembering The Monster Book of Monsters, Harry was left to wonder if it really was. Once confident that the man was engrossed in his work (desk intact), and would therefore not be coming to check on him any time soon, Harry strode over to the bathroom door. He reached out and twisted the middle hinge, and yanked the door open to reveal the short hallway leading to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry swept into the empty room, enjoying the thrill of being somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. He made his way to one of the couches and plopped onto the cushions, lying lengthwise with his head on an armrest. He wiggled his body until he was comfortable, then bent his knees while placing his feet flat on the couch. With anticipation he reached into his pocket for the mirror … which wasn't there. Cursing under his breath – despite the fact that there was no one to hear him, he still felt he needed to behave appropriately – he considered his options. He could return to his rooms to get the mirror, but he had just gotten comfortable. He could summon the mirror, but he had closed the doors behind him, thus blocking its path. He could summon a house-elf, but he wasn't supposed to be here and so decided he didn't want to give his position away.

Briefly he considered conjuring a mirror, but he quickly dismissed the idea, knowing it wouldn't help. Conjuring made something out of nothing, and since you couldn't 'create' magic so to speak, any conjured mirror would be a perfectly ordinary, non-magical mirror. Impulsively, Harry pulled his wand, held it over his outstretched left hand and twirled it in a circle, all the while thinking about his mirror. Seconds later, a smile crept onto his face as a mirror materialized in his hand. He carefully inspected his mirror, proud of his work. Harry had worked especially hard in Charms last year, confident that he could achieve an Outstanding if only he applied himself.

It was when he noticed that the mirror had a chip in the upper corner that Harry perked up. He had conjured an exact replica of the mirror! _'Wouldn't Flitwick be excited.'_ Deciding he had nothing to lose, he called "Ginny Weasley"; but of course, nothing happened. He called again, a bit louder, with the same results. Giving it up as a lost cause, he stuffed the mirror into his robe pocket. He lounged on the couch a while longer, daydreaming about what his girlfriend was probably doing that very moment. But, raging hormonal teen that he was, his over-active imagination soon had her soaking in a hot bath, leg extended above the water, stroking a sponge along her calf.

Groaning, he realized the image he'd created had been a bit too vivid. For a split-second he considered doing something about his growing problem – he did have the place completely to himself – but with a sigh, he realized he couldn't corrupt the sanctity of the common room. Rising from the couch, he walked aimlessly around the room, all the while thinking cold thoughts. When that failed he pulled out the 'big guns', a memory from just before he had gotten his first Hogwarts letter. Uncle Vernon had forgotten to lock him in his cupboard and he had snuck out to the sitting room, wanting to see the telly. Instead he got an eyeful of his Aunt Petunia in just her underclothes and heels, kind of shimmying around while she said dirty things to his Uncle. _'Yep, that got the job done!'_

Feeling more comfortable – but now slightly nauseated – he continued his trek around the common room before finally coming to a stop at the base of the stairs to the girls dorms. Once again giving in to his impulses, he crouched down before leaping up to the third step. He landed soundly, and lifted his foot to step up, when the whole thing turned into a giant slide and he landed on his rear end on the floor. He stood up, rubbing his sore posterior, and laughed; he hadn't thought it would work. But now he was determined. He would get up those steps; he had all day to try and more importantly no witnesses to his failures.

He watched as the steps reverted to their natural state. Moving closer, he rested his right foot on the first step, his left not leaving the floor. Nothing happened. He switched feet, so the left was on the step and the right on the floor. Again, nothing happened. Moving several yards back, he took a running start and lunged up the stairs. His right foot caught the sixth stair, but before he could place his left foot, the steps melted away again. This time, since his body had already been moving in a forward motion, he felt his knees hit the stone even as the rest of him continued forward. He turned his head at the last second, and his cheek made contact with the unforgiving stone as he slid back down to the floor. He gingerly moved into a sitting position as he checked himself. His cheek was throbbing, his knees both hurt, and one wrist was sore. Feeling the mirror in his pocket, he pulled it out and was relieved to find it still in one piece. He looked at his reflection, and saw a bright red mark and scrapes where his cheek hurt. When he got back to his room, he would have to see if there was any healing salve in the medicine cabinet.

Getting comfortable on the floor, he relaxed as he thought this through logically. His plan to skip the first few steps had failed, so apparently the whole staircase was charmed. He considered using his broom to fly up the steps, but easily discarded that idea. For one thing, he didn't think he could maneuver the racing broom through the tight space. It was made for high speeds, and he honestly didn't think he could make it go that slow. Besides, he wouldn't want to be seen ascending the stairs, and flying with his invisibility cloak on would be near impossible. He would have to fly near the ceiling to avoid people, but anyone under him could look up and see him from underneath.

Perhaps his best bet was to combat magic with magic. Last year he had worked on levitating himself. It was something that wasn't taught at Hogwarts as it was quite difficult magic, but he had managed to float about six inches above the ground. Standing firmly at the base of the staircase, he cast the charm on himself and was pleased to feel his feet leave the ground. With a slow, arcing wave of his wand, his body started to float up the staircase. He had made it up to around the eighth step when the stairs (which he had been careful not to touch) again changed into a slide, but this time the change was accompanied by a powerful whoosh of air. The force of it was enough to knock him out of the air, and he once again slid down to the floor. It would seem the Charmer had been clever enough to anticipate that magical boys might think to use magic.

He stood again, taking stock of his now grungy jeans and robe, and the small scratches he'd accumulated on his hands and arms from his tumbles down the slide. His cheek was still sore, too. He glared at his new nemesis – the girl's staircase. He was The Boy Who Lived, the defender of helpless school girls and barmy Headmasters; there was no way a pile of stone was going to get the best of him. Gritting his teeth, he continued to stare, as if willing the answer to come to him. And it did. If his classmates had been present, they might have been frightened of the very Snape-like smile that crept onto his face – the one the git always had just before he deducted twenty points and assigned a detention.

Harry was connected to Hogwart's magic. _'How could I forget that?' _Last year he had discovered the connection when he had been pulled toward the old guardhouse, which he quickly, and quite accidentally, discovered was a portal to the abandoned chapel on the school grounds. Since then, he'd experimented enough that he had been able to find a secret passageway from his (well, technically the Headmaster's) rooms to the common room – the very one he'd used today, in fact.

Standing straight, he put his right foot on the first step. He grasped the handrail on the right, and said aloud "I want to go up, please let me." He moved up two steps and paused for a second, repeating himself. A part of him felt a bit goofy 'speaking' to the castle, but he remembered Vernon speaking to his car on many occasions, and Ron often did the same with his broom during Quidditch practices. At least with the castle, there was a chance that what he was saying could have an effect.

As it became clear to Harry that the steps would remain steps, he quickened his pace, making it to the landing in front of what should be Ginny's dorm room. With a wicked grin, he strode into the room he had often dreamed of and thoroughly inspected the area. He walked to the bed farthest from the door and beside a window, instinctively knowing it was Ginny's bed. It was good to know where the bed was in reference to the windows; one never knew when one might decide to fly around the tower.

After exploring the whole of the girls' dormitories, Harry returned to his own rooms feeling rather pleased with himself. Ducking into the bathroom, he found and applied a healing salve to the bruise on his cheek and his sore wrist. Going to the dining table, he recalled that Albus was having a farewell lunch with the staff, so he settled in for a solitary meal. He tried to take his time, but with no one to keep him company he finished faster than he'd expected. With nothing else to garner his interest, he begrudgingly pulling out his list of summer work. Since he had to cram another year and a half into Arithmancy next year, those assignments – yes, plural – consisted of a series of essays and projects.

Harry had already decided he would settle for nothing less than an Outstanding on his Arithmancy O.W.L., and so he chose to get to work on those assignments first. Hermione would have been proud as he began outlining the order he would tackle the assignments and made a list of outside resources (mostly books from the school library) that he would need. He'd been so engrossed in his work, he hadn't realized the time that had slipped by until he heard the door open. He looked up, expecting to see his guardian, but was somewhat disappointed it was Minerva who entered.

"I am sorry, Harry," she said, as if she knew what he'd felt, "but Albus needed to go with Hagrid to check on some new animal of his. He asked me to see to it that you remembered to eat dinner and get ready for your appointment. I hope that is acceptable?"

Harry agreed, but then looked at the table that he and Albus normally ate at, which was lost in a sea of parchment and books. Seeing his dilemma, Minerva smiled as she pulled her wand and easily transfigured the sofa into a beautifully carved dining table, with legs that appeared to be overgrown in ivy. She asked Harry to move the chairs to the table while she summoned an elf and ordered their meal. Giving in to his muggle instincts, he stared to drag one of the chairs around, but when Minerva cleared her throat and gave him a pointed look, he understood and pushed both chairs into place with his wand.

As he moved to take his seat, he couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship on the temporary table. His no-nonsense Professor normally forwent the aesthetics in lieu of practicality. Her transfigured or conjured chairs, for example, were often plain and hard - the exact opposite of the colorful and cushy chairs Albus always made - so this ornate table had taken Harry by surprise. Minerva openly laughed as she watched him admiring her work. "I can be fancy, Harry, I'm a transfiguration _professor_, after all. But 'fancy' wouldn't much be keeping with my strict persona, now would it?"

Harry joined in the laughter as he agreed with her, and proceeded to ask a few questions about her technique as they began their meal. Like had often happened when Minerva dined with the family, the meal turned into an impromptu lesson, and by the time Harry was finishing his treacle tart, he was eager to try transfiguring something into carved wood. Minerva had also enjoyed the discussion, and told him so, which lead into a discussion of Harry's improved schoolwork.

With a smile, Minerva commented, "I was quite pleased with your effort this year, Harry. Your hard work is certainly reflected in your grades; Outstanding in Defense and Charms, and Exceeds Expectations in Arithmancy and Transfiguration. And based on Professor Snape's grumblings, I suspect you would have earned an Outstanding in his class were you graded."

"Not likely," Harry snorted, "everyone knows there's no 'O' in Gryffindor."

Minerva looked confused, "yes there is."

"Oh, not the way Professor Snape spells it, I think he puts a 'T' in its place."

Minerva chucked as she nodded along, although stopping short of agreeing with his assessment. "Now you be nice, young man, or I'll not share with you the unofficial N.E.W.T. results I saw today." Harry immediately quieted and sat up straight as if he were in her classroom and she had just called for order. "As you know, five students attempted the Care of Magical Creatures N.E.W.T. Only four passed," and she added under her breath "though how anyone can fail _that_ exam is a mystery to me." She cleared her throat and continued, "Four students, then; one with an Exceeds Expectations and the other three all with Outstanding. Sixty percent achieved Outstanding, which happens to be the same failure rate Dolores Umbridge had as a Professor. I shall have to remember to point that out to Hagrid." Instead of continuing Minerva fell silent, seeming to be more interested in watching the tea in her cup.

When he couldn't take the suspense any longer, Harry blurted out, "Are you going to tell me which I was?" … and she carefully placed the cup on the table … "I was one of the O's, wasn't I?" … frowning, she turning the cup so the handle was perfectly aligned … "Or was I?" … with an 'aha', she tapped the cup with her wand, and it changed from a floral to tartan pattern… "Well?"

Minerva finally put him out of his misery. "Of course you earned an Outstanding. Anything else would have been shocking considering we told you exactly what to study." As the two continued their discussion, Albus finally made his appearance, but only to ask Minerva to escort Harry to his appointment so he could finish some year-end figures for the School Governors. She agreed, and after a brief conversation, in which Albus actually scolded Minerva for telling Harry his N.E.W.T. result instead of letting him do it, the three went their separate ways; Albus back to his office and Harry and Minerva toward the great outdoors.

Harry walked under his cloak until they had exited the castle, then whipped it off to enjoy the night air. They passed no one on their way to the main gate. As the two shared comfortable small talk, Harry remembered his unease back when his strict teacher had arrived at his new home last summer for an extended stay. Since then, he had seen the personal – as opposed to professional – side of Minerva, and he had found he enjoyed their time together (detentions aside, of course). Considering all the clues that pointed to a more than friendly relationship between his two elders, he supposed it was natural for him to have grown closer to her.

Their ease together was reflected in the way Harry excitedly told her how Albus had agreed that he could invite his friends to visit this summer. In return, Minerva shared her own plans to visit her sister Helena as soon as her year-end work was finished. But since the Deputy-Headmistress' work was never done, she would be popping in from time to time if that was alright with him, which of course it was. They continued to talk of their summer plans until they had arrived outside the gates. As Minerva turned to take Harry's arm so she could side-along Apparate him, he gave her a cheeky grin, said 'see you there', and disappeared without a sound. Shaking her head, Minerva soon followed.

The walk to the Doctor's office was also filled with conversation, but more of the 'of the all irresponsible things' variety. Harry had had to reassure Minerva that there would be no Ministry trouble since he was Untraceable. Realizing his error the moment he had said as much, he tried to back track, but it wasn't hard for Minerva to guess how the underage wizard had come across the illegal Tracager Potion. Harry begged her not to say anything to his guardian lest he get in trouble for sharing their secret, and she eventually agreed when he promised to help her with her summer mail. Too late he realized that as Deputy Headmistress, her summer mail included all school supply and First Year enrollment letters.

His session with Doctor Tony went as most had of late. They discussed his continued guilt over the accidental death of Rodolphus Lestrange last May, for which Harry alternately felt regret ('I mean, he's dead, and I did it') and satisfaction ('at least he's not going to destroy anyone else'). Uncomfortable as he always was with the topic, Harry purposely changed the subject by telling Dr. Tony about his emotional breakdown over Sirius the night before. The Doctor knew what Harry was doing, but allowed the switch, correctly guessing that Harry needed to talk about his godfather just now.

As Harry left the inner office to see Minerva waiting for him, he was relieved that he hadn't been reduced to crying – he wouldn't want her to think he was weak. But as they made their way back to the castle, he admitted to himself that she had to know what kind of doctor Tony was. She was an intelligent woman, after all, and he was not the first Hogwart's student to have to make these trips. Without thought, he found himself telling her about his problems last summer; about why he was seeing a 'Muggle shrink'.

Minerva didn't often show surprise, but tonight she did. She stopped walking and turned to look him over as if there was some physical marker to be seen. She nodded once, as if she had come to a decision, and pulled him into a tight hug. For a second he thought she was going to get all mushy on him, but when the hug was over, she simply turned back and continued her walk. It was when they reached the castle doors that she simply said, "Albus is not the only one who cares, nor the only one that can listen. Don't forget that, Harry."

He thanked her and pulled on his cloak for the stealthy trip back to his rooms. As he began to cross the hall Professor Snape appeared from around a corner and called to Minerva. Harry quietly made his escape from the area as Snape launched into some changes he wanted to make. Back in his bedroom, Harry pulled out his map and saw that the two Professors were still standing in the entryway. He took a few minutes to check in with Albus, before announcing that he was going to turn in early.

Harry changed into sweat pants and a comfy t-shirt, planning to try contacting Ginny with the mirror. In his excitement, he didn't pay attention to what he was doing as he pulled the mirror out of his robe pocket. Getting comfortable on his bed, he called 'Ginny Weasley', and seconds later the surface of the mirror rippled, and his fiancée's face appeared.

They spoke for over an hour, about all the things young couples speak about, before deciding to call it a night. They agreed to talk again tomorrow at the same time, and after they had each said the word 'goodbye', Ginny's image faded from the mirror. Harry carefully placed the mirror on the table next to his bed, then stood and stretched. He wasn't especially tired, but he'd had his fill of school work for the day. Spotting his schoolbooks, however, had given him an idea. Moving to the small bookcase in his room, he reached for one of the paperback books pushed to the end of the lowest shelf. He took off his sweat pants and climbed into bed, sitting against the headboard with the covers pulled over his lap. This was, after all, one of his favorite stories.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Tracager Potion, for those that forgot, removes the Ministry Trace from underage witches and wizards. It's not illegal to use it, but it is illegal to have it, make it, or sell it.

I decided not to go into detail about Harry's 'issues' from last summer because I covered that pretty well in the first half of Follow the Phoenix, and figured that anyone who read that story (and you all have, right?) would easily recall the details. Besides, Harry's past all that, and he gets upset when people bring it up. He's sensitive that way.

Harry's higher grades are the product of two things: 1- finally _wanting_ to get good grades (as opposed to wanting to pass) and 2- less classes, which gives him more time for study and homework. Oh, and did you catch that trick with the mirror?


	4. It's Magic, Harry

Warning: What you are about to read was not written by JK Rowling, who is after all the rightful owner of the Harry Potter franchise. She isn't making a single penny off this. But then again, neither am I.

=parseltongue=

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**Chapter 4. It's Magic, Harry**

_He was standing on the bow of the ship, leaning on the railing, his head turned to feel the spray on his face. It was dawn; his favorite time of the day. As he stood there, enjoying the moment, he thought he heard a voice calling to him. Turning, he checked the deck, but it was still empty. Looking back to the expansive ocean, he went back to his contemplation when he heard it again, only it was closer and clearer this time. It was a woman's voice, calling for help._

_Looking below, he spotted a small row boat, its single occupant waving to get his attention. He quickly tied a rope to the sturdy rail, and lowered it over the side of the ship. He climbed effortlessly to the rowboat; the distraught young woman practically throwing herself into his arms in gratitude._

_She eventually came back to herself and stepped away from him, and he got his first good look at her. She was only slightly shorter than him, but her shapely body seemed even smaller in his shadow. What was left of her dress barely covered her, the skirt ripped off above her knees, and the bodice was practically shredded. If it weren't for her long red hair he knew he'd have a perfect view of her ample bosom._

_She practically dropped to her knees as she thanked him for saving her life. He was about to reach down to draw her into his strong arms when another voice cut in, "he can't save anyone but himself."_

_He spun around to see Draco Malfoy standing behind him, but in the very next second Malfoy's dead body fell into the waiting arms of another wizard that had been killed in his prime. The other boy, dressed in Hufflepuff robes, chided the dead boy for trusting Harry with his life, before turning back to Harry and asking why his uncanny ability to save himself didn't extend to saving others._

_Harry tried to tell him that he was wrong, that he had saved plenty of lives, but the mist rose up and engulfed the boy, leaving Harry alone in the graveyard with his dead year-mate. Scared, Harry began searching for the Portkey that would take him back to Hogwarts. He was being careful to step around Malfoy's body, when he slipped on the dropped wand and fell backward into a large cauldron, his body slamming into the cold, hard metal. Starting to panic, he looked up to see the grim face of Peter Pettigrew as he stretched his hand over the cauldron, a knife raised in his other._

Harry woke abruptly. In his panic he instinctively reached for his wand, but overstretched and ended up rolling off the bed. He landed in a puddle of blankets, but his wand was held steady in his hand. Fortunately, all drowsiness had fled when he'd hit the floor, and he was able to realize that neither Voldemort nor Cedric Diggory was coming for him. He did, however, light up the room to dispel the shadows. A quick glance at this clock showed it was only 4:30 in the morning, but Harry had no intention of going back to sleep.

It had been a long time since he'd dreamed of Cedric, and that he now appeared with Malfoy, accusing Harry of failing them both, was hard to swallow. That part was true; Harry knew. He hadn't reacted fast enough – he should have recognized Wormtail despite the concealing cloak he'd worn, should have recalled the grotesque, child-like body Voldemort had been using and therefore recognized the 'baby' in Wormtail's arms for what it was – but he hadn't; and then he'd been crippled by pain, and it was too late. The game was over.

And this year, it had been his job to get Malfoy to safety. And he would have, but the prat _wouldn't shut up_. Harry had tried to shush him, but the arrogant twit just kept talking. In hind sight, he should have just cursed the idiot silent. But he'd honestly thought that Malfoy would need his voice in case they ran into trouble.

Harry knew he hadn't killed either boy; that their blood was not on his hands. But dream-Cedric had a point – he saved himself often enough, why didn't his 'sheer dumb luck' save the others? It was like he had two minds, one side arguing all the times others had died while the opposite side pointed out the ones he had saved: Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius from the Dementors ('but you really saved yourself, he was just along for the ride', the other side had interrupted), Ron and Fleur's little sister from the lake. It was frustrating, arguing with himself, especially over such a depressing topic.

Eventually, he forced himself to climb back into the bed. In hopes of distracting himself, he picked up his discarded book, opened it to a random page, and began reading. He had trouble concentrating on the dashing sea captain and the lovely damsel he had rescued, but every time his mind strayed, he would refocus on the book with a vengeance.

Harry didn't remember falling back to sleep, but the sudden sounding of his alarm told him that he had. The awkward angle he found himself in – on his side, bent at the waist with his back parallel to the headboard – left him with a dull aching back. As he sat up he caught sight of Hedwig, who was perched on his trunk and was watching him with what Harry thought was concern in her eyes. He blinked once, realizing that she was quite clear to him, and he dumbly reached up to confirm that his glasses were already on. He had fallen asleep with them there, and had luckily not bent or broken them.

He took a long, hot shower to work out the kinks in his back and the shadows from his mind. Once he felt sufficiently refreshed, he dressed and went to the sitting room. Breakfast was already on the table, and Albus' cleared spot meant that the man had already eaten and left. No doubt busy with the leaving professors, Harry thought. He wanted to occupy his mind so he couldn't dwell on last night's dream, so when he was done eating he got right to work on one of his Arithmancy papers.

Albus entering the rooms for lunch caught him by surprise, more because he had almost fallen asleep than because he was concentrating. Pretending not to notice, Albus used a spell to make Harry's work sink into the table and called an elf to bring their meal. As they ate, he casually asked the boy if he had slept well, and while he was concerned when Harry confessed to having a nightmare, he was also pleased at getting an honest answer right away.

While Harry described the dream about dead classmates and a certain graveyard, Albus was relieved that it appeared to be a normal - meaning non-Voldemort induced - dream. In the end, he suggested that Harry begin writing down any troubling dreams. "It's a good way to move the dream out of the subconscious and into the conscious, so it hopefully will no longer plague your sleep." Harry agreed that sounded like a good idea, and promised to give it a try.

After they had finished their lunch and the elves had cleared the table, Albus returned Harry's work with another flick of his wand. Before taking his leave he reached into his pocket and retrieved a scroll, which he handed to a puzzled Harry. Harry unrolled the scroll to find the essay he had written on Legilimency. He had been 'assigned' the essay after he confessed to having used Legilimency on Draco Malfoy to discover his secret plan. Harry had known what he had done was technically wrong – he had promised his guardian that he wouldn't explore Legilimency – but at the time had argued that the intelligence gathered (both the invasion and Harry's capture had been unknown until that time) had been worth breaking his promise.

The Order of the Phoenix had been grateful for the intelligence, but Harry's guardian was not as accepting. He had assigned the essay as part punishment, part learning experience. Hermione had been assigned a similar essay for having Obliviated Malfoy regarding said use of Legilimency. (It had been a good day for Gryffindor in the one-upmanship contest between the houses.) Harry had put a great deal of effort into the essay, and in his research he had learned the dangers to performing the spell to both the 'do-er' and the 'do-ee', and losing a few memories was the least of it.

At the bottom of the page, Harry read Albus' short and concise comments; that the essay was well researched and nicely written. He had gone so far as to suggest that it would be an excellent piece to make mandatory reading for any student of the art. But that comment was not what had Harry's attention. He was instead drawn to the bright blue "O" written below Albus' remarks, with "plus 50 points" beside it. Before he had a chance to ask, Albus explained that he had shared the remarkable paper with the Charms Professor, who had spent some of his precious packing-up time to read the paper. In the end he had been so impressed with the work that he had insisted that the paper's author receive school credit without even knowing who had done the work.

Albus excused himself shortly thereafter to return to his own work, and Harry tried to do the same. It was no use, however, and he eventually gave up in lieu of writing to Hermione about his extra credit. While writing the letter, he had tactfully avoided any mention of Terry Boot, although he had vaguely asked if she was staying in touch with anyone else this summer. He smiled to himself, thinking that Ginny would be proud of him for respecting Hermione's feelings. After he'd finished the letter to Hermione, and another shorter one to Ron, he sent them off with Hedwig, who had conveniently appeared just moments before she was needed. Harry couldn't decide if she was highly-intuitive or just anxious for some flight time, but regardless, he was grateful for her appearance.

He spent the rest of the afternoon taking a short nap on the sofa, and had a late but relaxing supper with Albus. They ended the night by playing some wizard's chess, which Albus was very good at. Since he explained every move he made as they went along, Harry hadn't minded losing.

The next day went much the same, but without the early morning nightmare, and his evening was once again filled with letters and speaking with Ginny via the mirrors. Friday morning found Harry finishing yet another of the Arithmancy assignments, and he was finding himself bored. It was all well and good to be studious, and all work and no play might make Hermione happy, but it made Harry a very restless boy. He was looking at his map, debating if he should return to Gryffindor Tower or risk a trip to the library when Dobby popped into the room. With his usual exuberance, Dobby greeted 'The Great Harry Potter' before handing him the note. Harry absently thanked him as he opened the note, wondering what it could be. The mystery was easily solved, it was a request to put on his school robes and come to Albus' office. _'why didn't he just come and get me, he's right through that door?' _Harry almost asked the elf if he knew what was going on, but Dobby was already busy cleaning the books on the shelves, one by one.

With a shrug, he sauntered to his room, reemerging in the requested robe. He walked the short distance to the simple door that separated the private rooms from the Headmaster's office and pulled the door open. As he entered the office and closed the door, he noticed that he had Albus' attention. With a smirk, he made a show of walking over to the big desk. Moving to stand behind Albus, who was now watching him with open interest, he thrust his hand forward – which made his sleeve pull back – then bent his elbow so he could see his watch. With his other hand he pulled his wand and said "Alohomora". The door swung open, and Harry called out, "Dobby, could you grab one of my school robes and come here please?" When Dobby ran into the room with the robe Harry triumphantly announced "forty-two seconds".

Dobby ignored the announcement, instead thrusting the robe repeatedly at Harry. An amused Albus nodded to the elf before turning to Harry and saying, "Point proven, but now what are you going to do about your little friend?"

Now feeling guilty for using the elf, Harry switched from the perfectly fine robe he was wearing into the identical robe Dobby had brought, and thanked him for his speedy response. Dobby beamed as he left to return to his beloved cleaning. Once he had left the room, Harry turned to see Albus still watching him. Enjoying the good mood of the room, he gave his guardian his best cheeky grin before plopping into a chair and in his deepest voice intoned, "You summoned?"

"Yes, Harry," he relied in a much deeper voice, "Professor Snape will be arriving soon for his promised trip into the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve his basilisk parts. He, of course, believes that I summoned you here this morning specifically for this purpose. He should arrive momentarily."

"Oh, right, I had forgotten that we left everything down there," Harry responded.

"I can assure you that he did not. I understand he found several other items of interest, having so much time on his hands."

Harry laughed, "It was for his own good, Seba. And he really doesn't have any room to complain. As I recall, he was perfectly willing to jump out the window instead."

Looking serious Albus replied, "I confess that it was really for my benefit that we saved dear Severus. I have enough trouble finding a Defense teacher every year. I didn't want to have to find a Potions professor as well."

Harry's jaw dropped, and Albus instantly broke into a full-out laugh at the boy's expense. Belated realizing that he had been had, Harry faked a pout and jumped from his chair. He wandered around the office looking at some of Albus' stranger objects. Hearing fluttering behind him, he turned to see Fawkes fly into the room and land on his perch. Just behind the majestic bird came a familiar snowy owl. Hedwig landed beside Fawkes; the two birds rather squished together in order to both fit.

Harry moved over and greeted the two, being sure he petted Hedwig first lest his proud pet become annoyed with him. The last time he had annoyed her, his letter to Fred and George had taken two days to reach them. Glancing up, Albus made a comment that the two birds looked cozy together. Watching as the birds seemed to cuddle together, Harry questioned how 'cozy' they could get, being different species.

Albus wasn't sure how seriously the question was meant, but he decided to use this as a teaching opportunity. "Magic has its way, Harry; and I caution you to never forget that. One need only think of the seemingly impossibility of a human-sized male and a full-blooded giantess successfully procreating to know this. Or had you never questioned Hagrid's existence?"

Harry visibly blanched, images of a man crawling through a dark, wet tunnel flashing through his mind. He brought a hand up to his mouth and swallowed thickly as he mumbled, "thanks for that visual."

"My pleasure, my boy," Albus cheerfully replied. "But I do hope you have grasped my true meaning."

Harry was saved from what promised to be a very embarrassing conversation by a knocking on the door. He moved back to his seat as his Potions Professor entered the room.

"Good morning Headmaster," the man said before turning his gaze in Harry's direction. Harry braced himself for whatever snide comment Snape was about to make. The man stayed silent for a moment before finally tipped his head oh-so-slightly in Harry's direction and acknowledged him with, "Student."

Caught off guard, Harry could do nothing other than tip his own head in return.

Albus watched the two with amusement before remembering his manners and inviting Snape to sit, saying he needed just a few moments to finish up. The three sat in an almost comfortable silence until Albus had finished his report. Tossing aside his quill and standing, he gestured for the other two to follow as he led the way to the seldom-used second floor girls' restroom. They entered to find Myrtle hovering by the mirrors. Spotting Harry, the ghostly girl smiled and started to say something, but when she caught sight of Snape she abruptly turned and dove into her toilet, sending water splashing in the process.

Snape snorted in disgust while Harry chuckled at the ghost's reaction. Albus pretended not to notice either reaction, instead politely inviting Harry to open the Chamber. With a short hiss the doorway to Slytherin's hidden lair opened. The three made the trip down in silence, and in no time they were in front of the inner doorway. Harry hissed again, and then moved aside as the wall split in two, allowing the others through first. Stepping into the main chamber, he was surprised by how much larger it seemed without a giant dead snake dominating the room.

Ahead of him, Snape had gone straight to the line of boxes stacked near one of the columns. Harry shifted his focus from the boxes to the spot that used to hold the carcass as if trying to picture how such a huge snake had fit into such a small number of boxes. He couldn't help but grin as he remembered his teacher's reaction to seeing the dead snake. He spotted Snape regarding him suspiciously and quickly averted his eyes, for he didn't want Snape to see his memory of his last trip into the chamber. Snape was, after all, still under the impression that it had been Draco Malfoy that had locked him in the chamber, and Harry was determined that it remain that way. He was sure that Snape's revenge would be _unpleasant_ should he learn the truth.

Seeing that Albus had moved to the far end of the row of boxes, he moved closer and found the man to be sifting through a box of items, strange knick knacks and books mostly. Snape cleared his throat, earning the attention of the others, and pointed off to the left-hand side of the giant statue. "If you would care to follow me, Headmaster, I will show you my discovery." Harry ignored the fact that he hadn't been invited and followed them into the shadows. As he moved closer, Harry realized that what had appeared to just be an empty corner was actually a small, shadowed alcove. Perfectly camouflaged within was a door that was stained such a dark brown that even up close it was hard to see. There was no handle on it and Harry couldn't see any hinges or decorations of any kind – nothing that might reflect light and thus give the door's existence away.

"Huh," Harry commented, mostly to himself, "wonder what this place is?"

"One of Slytherin's secrets, Potter," Snape quipped. "Surely you knew there was more to these chambers than the basilisk, or did you think Chamber of Secret_s__s__s_ was a misnomer?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry followed the others into the secret room and looked around. It appeared to be an office, the furniture sparse but comfortable, if they could be judged by appearance. There was a desk off to one side, complete with a wing-backed leather chair. Across from the desk was a work table, similar in height to the tables in the Potions classroom, with four low-backed stools surrounding it. Situated toward the back of the room was a faded sofa. Two of the walls were dominated by shelves, but much of the space on them was empty. Whether someone had scavenged or they had never been full, no one could say. Remembering the things in Snape's boxes, he settled on the former. The third wall had no furniture in front of it. At either end of the wall stood an elegantly designed white marble fireplace, each tall enough for Hagrid to stand upright inside. Taking up the space in between them was a massive wooden frame, which appeared to be completely empty.

Snape saw were Harry was looking, and with a sigh he explained, "No Potter, I do not know what belongs in the frame. Perhaps it's another of the _secrets_." Pleased with himself, Snape turned away to continue looking over the remaining books.

"Be nice, Severus," Albus chided. "It is commonly held, Harry, that this chamber was built by Slytherin after he made the decision to leave the school. I, however, have a slightly different theory. I believe that Slytherin never left Hogwarts quite as thoroughly as everyone assumed. Indeed, I myself was not quite as gone as was believed your Second Year. But that is only a theory, mind you. I could be totally off my rocker."

Harry had to stifle the snicker that followed that statement. "But what does that have to do with this room?" _'best behave with Snape watching' _"Sir?"

"Ah, well, looking around, the room has the feel of a depository. The shelves obviously were meant to hold something. I believe – and again, this is only a guess – but I believe that he made use of the chamber, and this room in particular, after his exile. And as his time drew near, he left in this room items he felt were of significant value or use to his future heirs. For surely, he intended that one day an heir would return to this school."

Mumbling his agreement, Harry moved closer to the empty frame, wondering what it had once contained. The deep reddish-brown wood and delicate, life-like carvings of snakes and wands gave the frame an oddly depressing look, even though Harry was certain it was supposed to appear grand. As he stared at the carved wood, he felt drawn to it, as if he'd found something he'd been desperately looking for. Without thought, he reached out and touched the nearest carving. The wooden snake he touched began to undulate, and reached its body forward to touch the tail of the next snake in sequence, until one after another, every snake on the frame was slowing moving within its proscribed space.

Harry shifted his eyes to the space inside the frame, and found in no longer empty. However, it held not a picture, but steams of writing with lines causing the many sections to flow together. Stepping back for a better view, his eyes were drawn to the top where large silver and green letters proclaimed

The True House of Slytherin  
"Mächtigste der Unverschmutzten"_  
Mightiest of the Pure_

Two names appeared beneath the banner: Argento ~ and Eugenia Slytherin

A line below those forked to three names: Salazar ~, Crodus ~, and Minuette ~

Fascinated, Harry stepped closer and began following the lines beneath Salazar's name, eventually finding Ricard Slytherin. Ricard appeared to have assumed his mother's maiden name of Gaunt, because from that point on, that was the last name displayed. Further down, Ricard's descendant Merope had married Tom Riddle, and given birth to one son, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Harry was surprised that Voldemort hadn't wiped his Muggle name from the wall, but that thought was abruptly cut off as he saw what was below _that_ name.

With trembling fingers, he reached out and traced the letters of a name that couldn't possibly be there. Harry James Potter ~. His gasp had drawn Albus' attention, and the older man was quick to spot what had caused Harry's distress. Without speaking, he pulled Harry's hand away from the wall, giving it an affectionate squeeze before letting go.

Forgetting the other person in the room, Harry cried out, "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL? How could my name possibly be there? There is no way, _no way_, I am related to that sadistic bastard!"

Before Albus could reply, a cold voice sneered, "Don't be an imbecile Potter. Did you not notice that there is no corresponding line connecting your name to his." Two heads whipped around to face the professor, who looked like he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "Ah, and by imbecile, I am merely referring to the fact that as a schoolboy you still have much to learn."

"Riiight," Harry replied before turning his attention back to Albus.

Albus, meanwhile, had taken a closer look at the wall. "Actually, Severus, there_ is_ a line connecting the names. It appears to be thinner than the rest and even broken in spots, as if this connection is not as clear as the others." He paused for a second, knowing what Harry needed now was reassurance. "Rest assured, Harry, your parents are indeed James and Lily Potter. However, I am sorry to have to remind you; you do share Tom Riddle's blood – or more accurately, he shares yours. Quite possibly, this has confused your identities. After all, is it not true that Muggles can identify a person by their blood?"

Without really getting a response from Harry, Albus continued. "But something else is going on here," he said, tracing his finger over several of the names on the tree. "You will notice the small squiggle behind your name, which upon closer inspection is actually a tiny snake. The same mark is behind Tom's name, and Merope's, and Marvolo's, and so forth. It appears to denote those who possess the 'family gift', shall we say?" He turned his attention back to Harry. "You received what is considered an inherited trait from Tom, therefore you must be his natural heir. Yet, you were not sired by him. It is quite the conundrum. I think either of these elements - the shared blood or the Parselmouth - by itself would most likely not be enough, but when put together ... the connection is made, and you appear on the family tree."

"But how did it even get there?" he demanded to know. "Who placed me there in the first place?"

"Magic, Harry," Albus replied. "It is the magic of the family tree that has decreed you one of its own."

Harry scoffed, "I'm beginning to think that _magic_ is your answer for anything you can't explain."

Albus chuckled, "And yet, it is indeed the answer. You don't think house elves sneak down here and paint on each name, do you?"

Harry ignored the sarcastic comment, although it did help to know that Albus didn't seem the least bit concerned by the discovery. In the corner of his eye he saw that Snape was struggling with himself to not reprimand Harry for his total lack of respect. Trying to make light of the discovery, and maybe see how far he could push Snape, he deadpanned, "So I'm an honorary Slytherin. Oh joy." With a deep sigh, he continued, "Should I look into changing my last name, do you think? Harry Slytherin … sounds OK, I guess. At least it's better than Harry Hufflepuff."

Albus' quiet laughter was interrupted by Snape's coughing fit. Both the others turned in his direction to find him clutching the back of the wing-backed chair. Seeing them looking his way, he explained, "stale air." He made a show of clearing his throat before continuing, "As touching as this has been, perhaps we could carry on? I myself have no intention of spending another night in this wretched place."

They each investigated the room in silence, Harry choosing to sit at the desk and nose through the drawers. He was disappointed when his search came up empty, so he moved to the nearest bookshelf. There wasn't much left on the shelf, a few trinkets that looked to be broken and maybe a few dozen books. He was about to move away when the cover of one book caught his attention. Or more correctly, the glistening eye of the snake caught his attention.

Carefully lifting the leather-bound book from the shelf, he realized that the cover of the book was adorned with two intertwined serpents. They were reminiscent of the guardians of the interior doorway of the Chamber, right down to the tiny emeralds for eyes. He tried to lift the cover, but it wouldn't budge. Gripping the cover and the back with his hands, he tried to pull them apart, but the result was the same. It reminded him of a trick greeting card Dudley had once received, where the front and back had been glued together so it could not open. _'But why would someone Slytherin keep a trick book lying around? unless…'_

Setting the book on the desk, he commanded =open your cover=, and as he had expected, the two snakes separated. When each had aligned itself with an edge of the book, the front cover popped open. Harry bent forward for a better look at the book, and softly read aloud the handwritten note inside: 'Journal of Magic'.

A shadow fell over the book, and Harry turned to find Snape looking over his shoulder at his find. "I should have known," he said in a snide voice, though Harry thought he came across as jealous.

Albus, however, clapped his hands and exclaimed "bravo". With Harry's consent, he picked the book up from the table, but the moment it was fully supported by his hands, it snapped shut with a loud hiss, scraping skin off both his thumbs in the process. On the cover the snakes had moved back to their original positions, and Harry swore he heard a menacing hiss. Startled, Albus dropped the book back onto the desk as he examined his abused fingers. A quick spell had his thumbs looking as wrinkled and undamaged as ever. Turning his attention to Harry, he motioned toward the book and said, "Open it again, if you would, please."

Harry took the book, holding it by the binding in his left hand, and at his hissed command, it once again sprang open. He glanced briefly at Albus, and with his unspoken encouragement, he began thumbing through the yellowed pages. He stopped about a third of the way into the book, and began reading out loud, stumbling as he did so since not all the words were in English.

"Of the drei mach—machtigsten cursung?" He looked questioningly to Albus, who nodded encouragingly. Taking a breath, he continued, "Ich infinden die Cruciatus most to me—mein nicht leiden konnen. Endlos pinnes may bringen obedience, but es auch breeds ver-verachtung for es caster." Thus finished, he looked at Albus, "well, that made a whole lot of no sense at all."

In the background, Snape made a loud 'tsk' noise, but it was drowned out by Albus' chuckling. "Combined languages can be tricky. It would appear that Slytherin spoke German as his first language, or at least a comfortable second. The rest is in English, although some of the words are of an older variety than others. English was, after all, an evolving language during his time. German – what a delightful discovery, wouldn't you say, Severus."

"Oh, yes, quite," the Professor replied, appearing not the least bit impressed.

"But what did all that mean, er, Sir?" Harry wanted to know. "Something about the Cruciatus curse?"

"If you would be so kind," Albus replied, motioning to the book, "I shall see if I can ascertain its meaning." Harry spun it around so Albus could see, and pointed to the passage he had read.

After reading it once to himself, the older man looked back up. "I believe it translates as thus: 'Of the three most powerful curses, I find the Cruciatus most to my disliking. Endless pain may bring obedience, but it also breeds contempt for its caster'."

"You're telling me that Salazar Slytherin didn't like the Cruciatus curse," Harry asked, his disbelief evident in his voice.

"No, Harry, _Salazar Slytherin_ told you he didn't like the Cruciatus curse. It is his journal after all. A most extraordinary find," he said, clasping his hands again.

Harry closed the book, the look on his face showing his confusion. "It doesn't make sense, though. I mean, why would Voldemort have left the private journal of Salazar Slytherin here? Wouldn't he have taken it – and anything else of worth?"

"Again, Potter," Snape cut in, "you jump to conclusions. What makes you think the Dark Lord did not take everything he deemed of value?"

"What Professor Snape is saying," Albus interrupted, stepping between the two as if he were a referee, "is that Voldemort probably discounted the value of the journal. He certainly would not have agreed with a book that speaks out against the Unforgivables. But more likely, I think," Albus reasoned aloud, "he simply ran out of time. Consider this: he arrived at this castle knowing nothing of his family. First, he had to determine that he was in fact Slytherin's heir. Then, he had to learn of the existence of the chamber, which is not standard classroom discussion, your experience aside. And then, he had to find the Chamber. And remember, Harry, there was no overly friendly ghost eager to help point the way. No; I suspect Tom actually spent very little time here. Do not forget, once Myrtle's life was taken, the proverbial heat was turned up. He was forced to frame Hagrid, and thus abandon this place. It certainly wouldn't do for the basilisk to get free – or for him to get caught acting suspiciously – after Hagrid had been expelled."

Deciding it didn't really matter, Harry began to set the book down. But Albus encouraged him to take the book and read it, going so far as to hint that it was as much his as Riddle's, at least as far as the family tree was concerned. As Harry agreed, he noticed the contemplative look on Snape's face, and he couldn't help but wonder if he and Albus had been too comfortable together today.

He brushed his concerns aside as Albus announced it was time to leave. Between the three of them, they managed to levitate the boxes back to Myrtle's restroom. Snape was ordering two house elves to deliver the boxes as Albus led Harry away to supposedly return him to his home. Once back in their rooms, Harry excused himself so he could go soak in the bathtub. Trips to the Chamber always left him feeling dirty.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes: **Wow, who would have guessed that Harry really was the heir of Slytherin, and without Lily having to have an affair with Riddle, too. I don't actually think it means anything; there's no Slytherin vault at Gringotts (remember - by Marvolo's time the family is dirt poor) and definitely no 'ownership' in Hogwarts. Slytherin co-founded, not co-owned.

Can't really say why I picked German for Slytherin to speak, but it just seemed to fit. For your ease of understanding and my sanity, we shall pretend that modern German was being spoken in Slytherin's time. Also, please forgive any mistakes – we'll chalk them up to Slytherin, not me. It's his book, right? In reality, it's the fault of the online translator I used, which I didn't completely trust, but it was all I had. **Special thanks to ObiBettina7 for help with translating.


	5. In the Thicknesse of It

The boring disclaimer stuff: If you recognize it from any of the published works of JK Rowling, then you should already know that I don't own it, or else it wouldn't have been in one of her books, now would it?

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**Chapter 5. In the Thicknesse of It**

Harry was comfortably soaking in a steaming bath when he clearly heard Albus greeting him. Startled, he bolted upright, wildly looking around the room; but Albus was nowhere to be seen. He started to settle down when he heard Albus speaking again – this time offering him refreshments – and Snape clearly accepting a spot of firewhisky. Following the voices with his eyes, Harry focused his attention on the tray that had been delivered to him while he'd been running the bath water.

At the time, he had thought it most considerate for Albus to send him fresh pumpkin juice and a slice of cake. But now, as the disembodied voices of Albus and Snape shared their small talk, he chided himself for not noticing the innocent looking sea shell on the tray. He had thought it just a silly decoration, like the vase of flowers Petunia included on trays for her Ickle Diddykins, but now he noticed it had a familiar flesh-colored string attached to it, which disappeared under the door. Unless he was much mistaken, his wily guardian had adapted a Weasley invention for his own purposes. Fred and George would be so honored, if they ever found out.

Figuring he was meant to eavesdrop, he re-settled himself into the relaxing water and listened in.

-0-

"Was it my imagination, Severus, or did you nearly apologize to young Mister Potter earlier today?"

"I would never apologize to a _Potter_, Headmaster," Snape answered, choosing his words carefully, "I was merely making certain that his feeble mind understood that I meant to be helpful and not criticize."

"Of course, Severus, I don't know how I could have thought otherwise," Albus replied, with only a hint of laughter in his voice.

Snape frowned as he snidely replied, "I was under the impression that you wished to discuss the Dark Lord this afternoon; but by all means, let us continue to discuss your wonder boy instead. Perhaps we should giggle like school girls as we critique his choice in clothing."

Albus openly laughed as he replied, "Why Severus, I didn't know you even noticed how Harry dressed."

"I assure you, Headmaster, I shall be paying much closer attention now that I know Potter really is a Slytherin, in the truest sense of the word," Snape smoothly responded. One didn't spend years lying to a Dark Lord without learning to think on the fly. With a smirk, he added, "You do realize that they had it right back in his Second Year, do you not? He really _is_ the heir of Slytherin."

Albus allowed Snape his moment of triumph before pointing out that no one, under any circumstance, could learn about that little development. Public image was far too important at this stage of the game – they couldn't afford for the public to lose their faith in Harry now. Outwardly disappointed, Snape conceded the point, secretly concerned about the lengths the Headmaster might go to insure his silence. It had not escaped his notice that the Headmaster and his pet Gryffindor had behaved much chummier than a teacher and student should.

Focusing on the real purpose of this meeting, Snape began his report. To no one's great surprise, Lucius Malfoy was being kept on a short leash by the Dark Lord due to his son's defection. The other Death Eaters now considered him lower than Pettigrew, and it was well believed that it was only his extensive fortune that kept him alive at all. In other words, the mighty had fallen. Severus had been unable to speak with him privately to feel out if his loyalty was failing, and Narcissa Malfoy had practically barricaded herself in her bedrooms since her only son's funeral.

Little mention of the attack at the train platform was being made, except in back-hand manners, as in 'those who prove themselves assets will be accepted while liabilities must be corrected.' The Senior Nott kept to himself, speaking to no one that Snape could see. The elder Crabbe was also quiet, but that was actually normal, and Snape wondered aloud if the nincompoop even understood what his son had done. Goyle's father, on the other hand, boasted to any that would listen that his son had followed orders and kept away from Potter.

Bellatrix Lestrange appeared, in Severus' opinion, to be even more unhinged. The combination of grief over losing her husband – Snape actually snorted as he said that part – and mortification over her own nephew's actions seemed to have affected her magic. Her spells, when they were even able to hit their target, were weak. It was a well-known secret among the followers that she was now 'wand-challenged'. To compensate, she had developed the habit of throwing objects at people, and even occasionally resorted to getting physical. A knee to the groin was her favorite for any stupid enough to let her get that close.

Of special interest to Albus was Snape's mention of the name Vespa. A large slithering serpent, not quite as thick or as long as Nagini, Vespa was a terror in her own right. Her skin was in shades of red and brown, bringing to mind the appearance of dried blood, and her flat, heart-shaped head spoke of venomous fangs lying in wait. Like Nagini, she was most probably a magical breed not indigenous to the area. At Albus' questioning, Snape confirmed that he had seen neither tail nor scale of Nagini. Snape didn't understand the significance, but knew by Albus' frown that this was not welcome news. His suspicion was confirmed when Albus politely but firmly told him he must discover Nagini's fate.

The two also reviewed some Death Eater activity – known attacks, suspected infiltrations and the like. Neither of the men could find any particular significance in the actions, aside from the obvious. It was well known that Voldemort always had something up his sleeve, but nothing Snape reported shed any light on his next grand scheme. The mad man had, of course, reiterated his order that Potter be captured but not harmed; but that was old news at this point.

Having finished his report, Snape set his cup aside and began to rise. It was his hope to get out of the office with his dignity intact; but alas, it was not to be. As he offered a brief goodbye, the old coot had casually asked, "By the way, how did Voldemort react to your survival?"

Snape looked out the window, contempt in his voice as he curtly responded, "The man is a deranged psychopath. How do you think he responded? When I confessed to being tricked by young Malfoy into going into the Chamber, he laughed. _Laughed!_ Of course, when I accidentally let slip that it was hard to say exactly when the boy switched sides, he changed his tune. He has convinced himself that it was _your_ plan; that you put Draco up to tricking me. You did, after all, send Fawkes to retrieve me, so you must have known where I was."

Albus heard the unasked question, and replied, "It was not my idea to convince you that I had been poisoned, nor to hide you in the Chamber. I can most heartily assure you that Draco had not defected to our side until that very evening." He face reflected his sadness at the outcome of that night. "I too wish things had ended differently. Draco Malfoy did not deserve to die."

"Few seventeen year-olds do."

-0-

Harry reached over and tossed a towel over the seashell, not wanting to hear any more about Draco Malfoy. His leisure soak had lost its appeal, and he was quick to dry off and head to his room. By the time he emerged in fresh clothes Albus was waiting for him in their sitting room. Ignoring the serious aspects of the overheard conversation, Harry chuckled as he took his seat. "I can't believe he still thinks that it was Draco that tricked him. A part of me really wants to let him know that it was a Potter that got the best of him, but the more adult part of me knows I'm probably safer if he blames Draco."

"Listen to your inner adult, Harry. You and I both understand that it was important for Severus to be contained during the invasion, but he feels he has been made a fool of. Wounded pride is a dangerous animal, Harry; one that is best avoided. Perhaps, in the distant future, we can let Severus know the truth. But for now, let us allow him his delusion."

"Don't worry, it's been bad enough dealing with him hating me just because he hates my father. There's no way I'm giving him a legitimate reason to hate me." Harry could see that Albus was not happy with his assessment, but the man didn't argue the point nor try to correct him. "But there was one thing, Seba," Harry continued, "from what he said, it sounds like Bellatrix is still being affected by my curse. Should we tell Professor Snape what's going on?"

Albus considered this for a time before replying, "No, I don't think we shall. You must understand; Severus is in the proverbial need-to-know position, as I have found it is best not to burden him with information he does not require. You see, the more he knows, the more he must hide, not only from Voldemort, but from the other Death Eaters." Seeing the look of confusion on Harry's face, he continued to explain, "Legilimency is not the only way to get information from someone, Harry. Others could become suspicious, for example, if they noticed Severus smiling as he watched Bellatrix whenever she preparing to use her wand."

Harry had to suppress his snickering at the image of Snape smiling by faking a cough. Clearing his throat he did his best to sound casual, "I understand." He almost pulled it off, but one look at his guardian, and he was laughing again.

"It's funny, though," he continued, once he was back under control of himself, "how one seemingly harmless curse can have such an effect on someone. Makes me real glad that I heard the incantation when it was put on me, so you could fix it."

Albus opened his mouth, no doubt to second the though, when a brown spotted owl flew into the room, circling once before landing in front of Harry. It held it's leg out, but Harry didn't immediately reach for the letter. Instead, he took his wand and poked at the letter as if to check for a trap. The owl hooted indignantly, causing Harry to screech, "hold your horses, featherhead".

"That's a Ministry seal, Harry," Albus explained. "I am certain the letter is perfectly safe. Whether it is harmless or not, I cannot say."

Grimacing, Harry put down his wand and removed the letter. As soon as it was free of its burden, the owl flew off without even waiting for a treat, obviously unimpressed with its treatment. Harry barely noticed as he turned the letter over in his hands, thinking to himself that the dreaded Ministry seal had yet to bring him good news.

Albus noticed his trepidation and he silently held out his hand, accepting the offered envelope from a now-anxious Harry. Breaking the seal he opened the letter, scanning it quickly before going back and re-reading it. As he read, his face went from calm to angry – Snape would accuse him of wearing his emotions on his face – and Harry's anxiety grew.

"It would seem that you have been summoned to the Ministry first thing Monday morning to give an official statement regarding the events of May twenty-sixth. I am sorry, son. I had thought that Minister Scrimgeour and I had come to an understanding regarding this matter, but apparently Mister Thicknesse, as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, thinks otherwise." Albus watched as Harry's face lost its color. "Do not fear; this will not be like the last time. It is not a hearing, you are not being charged with anything, and most importantly, this time you _will not_ be alone. I will be by your side the entire time."

Harry absentmindedly nodded, his eyes downcast. After a moment, he looked up and asked, "Is this the same guy that Edgar was talking about at the last Order meeting – the one that's suddenly friends with Yaxley?"

"Indeed it is," Albus replied, "which is another reason why you shall not be facing him alone." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting upward as most do when in thought. "In fact, I do believe we may make them play our game this time."

Seeing the look on his guardian's face, Harry actually smiled. "Sounds good, but … what is our game."

"Why, cat and mouse, Harry. Care to guess who's the mouse?"

-0-0-0-

After a long and anxious weekend, the only bright spot of which was the move back to the cottage at Sarag's Glen, Harry found himself once again being led into the Ministry by Arthur Weasley. Before leaving home that morning, Albus had reminded him that he would join him before the interview began. Harry only needed to get from the lift to the administrative offices on Level Two without getting into any trouble. But the look on Albus' face as he explained this clearly conveyed his lack of faith in Harry's ability to do so, which explained Arthur's presence.

Unfortunately for Arthur, Harry had come to a decision over the weekend: he was not going to let the Ministry strong-arm him this time. The meek little boy that had anxiously followed Arthur two summers ago had grown up, and it was time for certain Ministry stooges to realize it.

The first sign of his rebellion had come in the visitor's lift, when the disembodied witch's voice had asked for his name and reason for visit. Before Arthur could respond, he'd given his answer; and when his badge appeared he'd proudly put it on, daring Arthur to say anything.

Arthur had taken the boy's action in stride. But then, he'd raised Fred and George. When the ride to Level 8 ended the doors opened, and Harry allowed Arthur to exit first before following him. As they made their way to the security stand Harry glanced to the space that had once housed the Fountain of Magical Brethren. All that remained was the circular pool of water; the pedestal in the middle was now barren. The only reminder of its former occupants were the indentations were the statues had stood, even the spout that had fed the pool was gone.

Of their own accord, his eyes drifted across the pool to _that spot_. Harry shivered as he recalled the horrible feeling of being used, of being suffocated from the inside as someone – _no, something_ – forced him to taunt Dumbledore with his own death. Secretly, Harry considered Voldemort the winner of that round, for although the monster had been forced to flee in the end, he only did so after Harry had already surrendered. He had given up and asked for death that night, something he had never done before. Even in the graveyard, when he had been certain he would die, he had stood tall and faced death like a man, but had not _wanted_ death – not welcomed it.

Arthur noticed that Harry stood transfixed and pale-faced, staring at a seemingly empty spot on the lobby floor. He stepped closer as he gently placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze of reassurance as the boy turned to look blankly at him. The moment passed quickly, and Harry blinked as his mind cleared, returning to the present. With a small smile, he assured Arthur that he was fine, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. There was now a crack in the armor of false bravado he had been hiding behind.

Together they continued their trek to the golden gates, but Harry was no longer feeling cheeky and over-confident; his head was down turned (although he continued to sweep the surrounding area as he moved) and he moved slowly, his feet all but dragging on the floor.

When they had arrived at the security desk, Harry hesitated, wondering what would happen if he refused to hand over his wand. As he stood in front of the desk facing the impatient clerk behind it, he heard Arthur greet someone, and looked up to see Tonks approaching from behind the gate.

She stepped through and flashed a card in front of the guard as she greeted the two. "Wotcher Arthur, Harry." She gave them a brilliant smile, her hair turning a shade of green that Harry thought was supposed to match his eyes.

Noticing the death grip he had on his wand, she laughed as she commented, "No need to give up that wand, Harry. The Minister has issued you a pass." She ushered the two right past the clerk and through the gates, leading them to an available lift. She allowed them to enter first, then stepped in and spun around, blocking the door. "No other passengers, folks. Sorry, but Minister's orders." The doors snapped shut on her command, nearly catching a paper airplane in its jaws.

Safely alone in the lift, Tonks turned toward Harry with a wicked grin. "So ... Harry ... I know most teenage boys love to handle their wands, but maybe you can relax your grip on yours in public, yeah?"

Harry, who had been holding the wand with one end in each hand, instantly dropped his left hand away. A few seconds later, his brain finished processing exactly what Tonks had said, and he turned a brilliant shade of red. Moving closer to the Auror so Arthur couldn't hear him, he tried to sound casual as he replied, "maybe you can show me the right way to grip my wand later?"

"Oh Harry, that one was too obvious," she laughed as she slowly shook her head, "Sirius would have come up with something much more original. Maybe something about how many hands it took to control his wand?"

Arthur loudly cleared his throat as the lift opened on Level Two, saving Harry from having to come up with a retort. As he stepped past Tonks he quietly thanked her, for her kidding had helped relieve some of the tension. He followed Tonks down a hall and around a corner, finally entering what appeared to be a small reception area, Arthur behind him every step of the way. Tonks left them for a moment to check in with the young wizard behind the desk, and then motioned them to follow her into a nearby room.

Upon entering the room, Harry instantly relaxed, for he was standing in a perfectly ordinary conference room with no chains in sight. A large wooden table dominated the room, and there were eight comfortable looking chairs pushed around the table. Along one wall was a side table, with tea and coffee services, pitchers of water, and glasses taking up most of the table top. Another wall was lined by filing cabinets and bookshelves. On the far wall opposite the door was what Harry assumed was an enchanted window, but a shade was drawn so there was no view; no fake weather to watch. Oddly enough, that one detail gave the room a cold feel.

Tonks gestured for Harry to take a seat, and he chose the first seat inside and to the left of the door. Arthur moved around him and took the seat immediately to his left. Tonks moved to the back wall and lifted the shade, allowing sunlight to stream into the room. Harry looked over, and was captivated by the view of what appeared to be a Hogwarts Quidditch match. Arthur had noticed Harry's gaze, and explained that it was the 1959 Ravenclaw-Slytherin match, which apparently someone in the Magical Maintenance Department had played in, and whenever he was feeling especially nostalgic he would show the game.

As Arthur was speaking, Tonks had offered to serve them drinks. Harry was feeling daring, and accepted a glass of water from the clumsy woman. He was relieved when she managed to hand it to him without a single drop being spilled.

A few minutes after 9:00, a decidedly unfriendly-looking man (at least in Harry's opinion) came breathlessly careening though the doorway. The man's long black hair and pointed beard were both streaked with silver, and they reminded him of the villains in those mystery movies Petunia used to watch. Seconds behind him arrived two other men, one of whom Harry recognized as Auror Dawlish. The other was no doubt a fellow Auror.

Mister Evil Beard coolly took stock of the room's occupants, and when his eyes fell on Tonks, they narrowed as he barked out, "What's going on here, Auror? Potter was supposed to report to Interrogation Room Three. Why is he in the conference area, and what are you even doing here?"

Tonks had turned her hair a rather ordinary shade of brown, but was otherwise the picture of defiance as she turned to face the man. She likely would have gotten herself in trouble with her response if Arthur hadn't intervened. He jumped from his seat as he oh-so-politely responded, "I'm not sure I understand, Director Thicknesse. Harry is not a suspect, nor is he under arrest, so why would you even consider using an interrogation room? Surely it wasn't your intent to treat him like a criminal?"

As Arthur was speaking, Thicknesse had moved fully into the room, standing at the end of the table closest to the door, which placed him not only very close to Harry (as well as above, since he was standing while Harry was sitting) but also between Harry and the door, effectively blocking the only exit. Dawlish and the other man had also stepped inside the room, and were standing on either side of the door, their backs to the wall. Each was also holding his wand in his hand in what Harry was sure was meant to be an intimidating manner. Unfortunately, it had rather the opposite effect on Harry as Tonks' earlier words about boys handling their wands came back to mind, and Harry found himself fighting to hold in his laughter.

Thicknesse ignored Harry as he faced Arthur. "And what business is it of yours, Weasley. He's no relation – no red hair in sight – and interrogating witnesses to crimes isn't really part of your department."

"You're right, of course," Arthur conceded, "Harry isn't a relative. Good thing, too, or else Ginny would have a real problem on her hands, wouldn't you say, Harry?" Arthur looked down to Harry and winked, and Harry immediately felt his affection for the Weasley patriarch double, knowing he was making light for Harry's benefit. But Arthur's smile faded away as he turned back to Thicknesse. "I am here as an advocate. Harry is a minor, after all, and should have someone beside him looking out for his best interests."

Thicknesse didn't seem to like that answer, and probably would have argued the point, but Tonks chose that moment to step forward, catching her shoe on a chair leg and falling into the conference table. The entire room turned to watch as she straightened her self out. Thicknesse sneered at the girl as he growled "And you, Auror, had best get yourself out of this room and back to work post haste if you know what's good for you."

Tonks didn't respond, she just started moving forward, and Harry thought she was headed for the door. But when she was near his end of the table, just about across from where Arthur stood, she wordlessly produced the card she had used at the guard's desk, tossing it onto the tabletop in front of the man. Thicknesse scooped it up and practically growled as he read the visitor's pass the Minister had issued, which not only granted Potter 'dignified guest' status, but also assigned Tonks as his personal guard for the duration of his visit. Thicknesse was outraged. _'Dignified guest'_ normally meant a person of stature; a foreign dignitary, such as the French Minster, or if you really wanted to stretch it, someone like Celestina Warbeck. But to elevate Potter to such a level was in his mind simply too much.

He tossed the pass back onto the table with such force that it slid across the table-top and fell off the edge on the other side. Pointedly ignoring the female Auror, he turned his attention back to his intended victim. Not bothering to hide his loathing, he sized up the boy, taking in short dark hair that barely covered the famous scar, the quality robes that looked to have been barely worn, the … wait a minute. His eyes moved back up, taking in the visitor's badge innocently clipped to his chest.

Harry 'Chosen One' Potter  
Here to see a man about a horse

"So you really think you are the Chosen One, do you?" he practically spat out. "Must be as delusional as they said you were, _little boy_."

Harry knew that last comment was said solely to make him angry, and a year ago it would have worked. But he was not going to let them push him around this time, so instead he shrugged his shoulders in that annoying way that teenagers do as he replied, "You'll believe whatever you want no matter what I say, won't you Mister, ah … Thickest, is it?"

"It's _Thick-nesse_, and you'd do well to remember that, boy," the man snarled. "And what's that other bit supposed to mean? You are here to be questioned concerning the death of a Wizard on your front lawn, and you seem to be acting like this is some kind of a game. Murder is a serious charge, Potter."

Harry's first thought as he listened to the man's threat – for there was definitely a threat buried in there – was that this guy could put Snape to shame. But he pushed that thought aside and refocused, remembering how Albus had described today's trip as a game of cat and mouse. He leaned back into his chair in a carefree manner, resting his arms on the armrests and lacing his fingers together. In the calmest voice he could muster he looked up to the man and said, "I find myself rather surprised that you are unfamiliar with the phrase 'going to see a man about a horse'. It is a euphemism, meaning that my business here is of a private nature and not to be announced to any and all that I pass by."

Arthur looked down at the boy, his mouth slightly open. He was certain that Harry had just channeled Albus. Blinking his eyes, he took another look and saw that Harry was actually looking at Thicknesse from over the top of his glasses - a trademark move of the old man's. His musings were interrupted by a snorting sound, and he turned his head to see that Dawlish was losing his fight to not laugh. Everyone in the room clearly heard him grumble, "that's what my wife makes me say when I need to take a piss in public."

Harry turned to look at the now-embarrassed Auror, tipping his head to the man as he said, "I will try to remember that the next time I need to relieve myself while in mixed company."

'_Yes,'_ thought Arthur, _'he's definitely spending too much time with Albus.'_

Harry's abrupt change in attitude seemed to confuse Thicknesse, who turned briefly to the second, as-yet-unnamed Auror as if to get his opinion; but whether he got what he wanted from the man or not was unclear as he turned back. He glanced at Arthur, who was still standing next Harry, his hand now resting on the boy's shoulder; then to Tonks, who had again moved to the back of the room, but who was now holding her wand at her side. "Very well then," he grumbled. "Just make sure that in the future you show our legal process the respect it is due. Now, if we can all take our seats, we can get started just as soon as the Court Scribe arrives. He was down at interrogation, but he should be here any minute."

"Surely, an official Scribe is not needed for what is only a casual interview," an authoritative, and most welcome, voice said from the hallway. Every head in the room turned and took in the sight of Albus Dumbledore, looking regal in his crushed velvet robes of royal blue, standing next to the Minster for Magic himself. "I do hope I am not intruding, but Rufus and I just happened to be walking past and I couldn't help but overhear your comment. I am certain I must have misunderstood, for you could not possibly think that Mister Potter was in any way responsible for the Death Eater activities of May 26th."

After he had finished speaking, he easily pushed past the men stationed at the door and the stunned Thicknesse, and moved around the table to take the spot immediately beside Harry, which Arthur had just vacated by moving further down the table. The Minister, having decided to be a mere spectator in this game, stayed at the doorway, choosing to lean against the doorframe in a casual manner.

Thicknesse recovered quickly and sputtered, "Headmaster Dumbledore, I can appreciate your concern … b-but this is really none of your affair. Aside from one advocate, which Weasley has apparently decided to play, only the guardian of the … ah, subject may be present. The fact that he or she has decided not to attend today does not give you leave to simply take their place."

Before Albus could respond, Harry cut in, "That's a brilliant idea. I certainly don't mind if the Headmaster stays, since my guardian was too busy to be here. After all, he was so helpful during my inquisition two years ago."

Thicknesse felt his temper flare as he gruffly replied, "Don't you mean hearing?"

"No," Harry fired back, "I said what I meant. Or is a full trial before the Wizengamot regular procedure for a simple case of underage magic?", Harry asked, trying his best to parrot Albus' own comments from two summers ago.

As entertaining as Rufus found this – he admired Albus' fierceness when it wasn't directed at him – he felt he should rescue his department head. "Pius, I think what Albus is trying to say is that he and I have already discussed Mister Potter's part in the invasion, and have found no further action was necessary. In fact, the Hogwart's Invasion has already been fully investigated, and Albus and his staff have been found to have handled the situation admirably. It was Lord No-Name and his Death Eaters, _and only they_, that were at fault."

"Be that as it may, Minister, I still feel it is my duty to question the boy about his involvement. I believe I am correct in that there is no official statement by him on file?"

Rufus wearily replied, "You are correct. I did not deem an official statement necessary, given the findings of our investigation." He was not sure what Thicknesse was up to, but he knew that the man was no match for Albus Dumbledore, and that to pursue this would be detrimental to the man's career.

Thicknesse practically purred in a way that made Harry wonder who was playing the mouse now. "And in regards to Hogwarts, you are correct," he agreed with an oily smile on his face. "I, however, am interested in the happenings that night at Privet Drive – Mister Potter's former home, unless I am mistaken?" He pointedly looked at Harry, challenging him to disagree, which of course Harry could not.

With the smug self-assuredness of a man that could taste victory, he continued, "I have it on good authority that Potter was there - was directly involved in the death of Rodolphus Lestrange." He turned and addressed himself to a pale-faced Harry, leaning across the table as he did so. "We know what you did. We know that you performed magic … dark spells that oddly enough didn't register with the Improper Use of Magic Office." He slammed his hand onto the table as he continued, practically spitting as he said, "You are Untraceable. That is the only explanation. I will find out how you got the potion, and I will see you prosecuted, both for your blatant flouting of our laws and for your attack of another wizard."

Next to Harry, an enraged Albus reached out and put his hand on the boy's shoulder, hoping to give strength to the boy and calm himself at the same time. In the corner, Tonks had brought her wand up, not certain what was going to happen next, but wanting to be prepared. Arthur Weasley was also holding his wand in a not-so-casual manner. He, too, did not know what to expect, but was prepared to defend Harry if the need arose. By the door, Dawlish had apparently learned his lesson when it came to going against Potter and Dumbledore combined, and was doing nothing. After all, he had been present when Fudge had made this exact mistake – trying to bring down a wily Harry Potter while the over-protective Albus Dumbledore was standing guard.

Scrimgeour could feel the growing tension in the air, and acted quickly to defuse the situation. Pushing past the two motionless sentinels at the door, he moved to his inferior's side, keeping his hands in the open and his wand safely tucked away as he did so. He wanted to give a clear message of non-aggression to the two powerful wizards Thicknesse had cornered. Patting the slightly taller man on the arm in what most would take as a condescending manner, he started, "Now Pius, you're being a bit over-zealous, don't you think? I am sure that Mister Potter is aware that it is perfectly legal to have consumed the Tracager Potion, if he did in fact do so. And I am equally certain that any questioning that is done today will result in the same information I myself was given the day after the invasion. But perhaps you have a point, and we should have an official report on file. So … why don't we important people leave this monotonous paperwork to the subordinates, while we get back to the real business?"

Proud of himself for defusing the situation, Scrimgeour didn't give Thicknesse a chance to refuse. "Since I've already asked Auror Tonks to stay with the lad today, we might as well have her conduct the interview, don't you agree?"

Thicknesse stood open-mouthed, unable to respond. Albus had no such problem, and he quickly agreed that the young Auror would be more than acceptable. Arthur concurred, and before Thicknesse could comprehend what was happening, he and his two goons had been successfully maneuvered out of the room by the Minister and sent on their way back to their offices. Thicknesse was waved off with the Minister's assurance that he would be sent a copy of the interview.

For a few seconds after their departure, the remaining occupants of the room were silent as they processed what had just happened. Harry remained in his seat, trying to calm his roller-coaster emotions. He had gone from feeling confident early this morning, to shaken as he'd remembered the battle a year ago, then cocky as he'd sparred with the pompous Thicknesse, before falling into near-despair when he'd realized that Thicknesse was actually hoping to arrest him for murder. With a hand he kept from shaking through sheer willpower, he reached for his glass of water.

As he took a drink of the refreshing liquid, he took stock of the others in the room. Albus was still standing just behind and to the right of him, his hand still gripping his shoulder as if to keep him in place. To Harry, it felt as if Albus' protection was a tangible thing, and he could feel it seeping into him from that strong hand; but he was sure it was only his imagination. Tonks, he noted, had relaxed back to a casual stance, her wand now held loosely in her grip. Her hair was also back to a more normal color, which for her meant a bright shade of turquoise.

Arthur Weasley had just taken the empty seat two down from Harry, obviously leaving the other for Albus, should he choose to use it. He chuckled nervously as he summoned himself a glass of water.

Setting down his own glass, Harry finally looked across the table, to where the Minister nonchalantly stood watching him. It was he who finally broke the silence. "Well, wasn't that fun?" Rufus asked to no one in particular. "Rather convenient that you wanted to see me about that pressing matter this morning, wasn't it Albus?"

Albus merely inclined his head to the man, and everyone in the room understood that their appearance had been no coincidence. But then, everyone – Minister included – had been expecting Albus' presence; only Thicknesse had thought he would get away with ambushing Harry Potter.

"Well, Albus," Scrimgeour continued, "perhaps we had best leave Mister Potter and Auror Tonks to their business so we can get to that pressing matter of yours?" As Albus agreed, and began to move away from Harry, the Minister started to the door. With a practiced casualness, he stopped and turned back. "You know, Mister Potter, it occurs to me that without Pius doing the questioning, you should be free to leave just about lunch time. By a lucky coincidence, my own lunch-time meeting has canceled, leaving me free as well. I wonder … how would you like to accompany me to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. My treat, of course." Seeing Harry look questioningly to Albus, he hastened to add, "and obviously, your Headmaster and Arthur are also invited."

Seeing the slight nod of Albus' head, Harry accepted the kind invitation, breaking into a smile at the resigned look on his guardian's face as he did so. Arthur was only too happy to decline, using his busy workload as an excuse. Politely accepting Arthur's decline, the Minster glanced one last time at the boy-who-would-bolster-his-public-image before exiting the room. Albus said his goodbyes to the group, promising to be back to get Harry for their lunch date.

When it was just the three of them in the room, Tonks flopped into the chair across from Harry, sighing dramatically. As Harry relaxed into his seat, she opened the box containing the parchment and dictation quills. After getting the formalities out of the way, she got down to business. Not having a script to go by, she claimed she could only think of a few questions. With a wink, she reminded Harry to answer the question _as asked_ (which Arthur had already told him meant do not elaborate unless asked to do so).

Whether by happenchance or by design, she kept her questions vague: 'Were you in any way responsible for the planning or executing the Invasion', to which he replied 'hell no'. 'Did you try to stop the Death Eaters'; 'did you use magic to defend yourself or others'; and 'were you taken to Privet Drive against your wishes' were all answered with a simple 'yes'.

Surprising him, she than said, "Last question, Harry. Explain how you felt after the invasion."

Harry was caught off guard by the question, and took a moment to really consider his answer. Taking a deep breath, he explained, "I was horrified. I … I had to watch a classmate be killed by his own uncle. I saw a teacher attacked, and I didn't think he would survive either. Then, I had to fight Death Eaters. _A__gain_. And they aren't exactly a nice bunch, if you know what I mean. I saw even more friends being attacked. Then I finally made it to the hospital wing, where I heard that the Death Eaters had been stopped, and I should have be relieved, ya know? Only that's about when Mad-Eye Moody died, so that just made the whole thing that much worse. So how did I feel? … I felt sickened at what I had seen and what I'd had to do … I felt tired of all the meaningless violence … but mostly …I felt that Voldemort has to be stopped if we are ever going to have peace."

Seeing the cold resolve in Harry's eyes, Tonks was hit with the sudden though that this kid meant business. A quick glance to Arthur revealed that he had come to the same conclusion. Having finished her questions, Tonks had Harry sign the statement and then put the supplies away. They spent the rest of their time talking and working on a word puzzle Tonks had retrieved from her cubicle. Arthur had opted to stay with them claiming that he was due a short break, but Harry knew he was really staying in case Thicknesse returned.

When Albus returned to escort him to his highly-visible lunch with the Minister for Magic, Harry thanked Arthur and Tonks for a truly enjoyable morning. Just before leaving the Ministry building, he ducked into a restroom to check his appearance. He would, he was certain, be gracing the front page of the Daily Prophet tomorrow, and wanted to look nice for the picture.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Huh, I don't think I have any notes, so how about a bit of advice: Never eat spinach with a stranger.


	6. …that Swallowed the Canary

Legal stuff: If I didn't own them in Chapter 5, what makes you think I own them in Chapter 6?

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**Chapter 6. …that swallowed the canary**

Harry slumped back in his chair as he threw the paper down in disgust, sighing loudly. Albus was at his usual spot at their dining table at the cottage, and had been surreptitiously watching his boy read this morning's Daily Prophet. Judging by his reaction, they had been correct in assuming that their lunch with the Minister yesterday had made the front page. With another loud sigh, Harry allowed his head to fall forward so his chin practically rested on his chest, acting for all the world like the moody teenager he sometimes was.

The first thing Albus noticed as he picked up the offending paper was the large picture that dominated the upper half of the page. It had been snapped during their meal, and was masterfully cropped so it appeared they were in a private setting instead of the crowded pub. Albus was actually in the center of the picture, but only because his seat was in between the other two. He appeared to be engrossed in his sandwich, although Albus noticed his picture-self continuously scanning the area. To the left (what had actually been Albus' right-hand side) sat the Minster himself, regally poised in the uncomfortable chair, wearing a triumphant look on his face. Across the table from him sat Harry, who looked anything but school-boyish in the stylish robes of dark grey he'd worn that day.

But what struck Albus about the picture was the way Harry's image commanded the viewers' attention. Gone was the uncomfortable and uncertain boy of earlier years. In his place was a young man at ease with the situation ad his place in it. Albus knew Harry's apparent calm was mostly due to his own presence; but to others, he was sure Harry would seem confident and commanding. Of course, it didn't hurt that he was also handsome, Albus thought with a twinkle.

He watched the picture as photo-Harry looked at up at the Minister and reached his hand across the table. The animation cycle of the picture reset itself before the move was complete, going back to Harry lowering his glass. He watched the cycle a second time, realizing that Harry's movement gave the appearance that he was about to shake hands with the Minster. In reality, the boy had been reaching for the salt. Albus had to give Rufus credit – the man was excellent at the publicity game.

The article itself contained a retelling of Harry's many 'accomplishments' (thankfully from a positive perspective), a run-down of the many rumors concerning his status as The Chosen One, and of course dozens of quotes from Scrimgeour. That was to be expected, he supposed. After all, when the three of them had arrived for their meal at the Leaky Cauldron, a reporter and photographer just happened to be sitting at a table directly across from the centrally-located table they had used. It had been rather obvious that the Minister had requested the table, no doubt for its high visibility. Equally obvious was the fact that the press had been tipped off; the reporter (thankfully not Skeeter) already had her quill poised and the photographer's camera had been out. The lunch itself had been tolerable, bordering on nice even; the food had been excellent and their discussion had stayed on the light and frivolous, never straying to any serious topics. A calculated move on all their parts, as there was no telling who might be listening to them.

At the end of the meal Albus had asked, perhaps a bit louder than necessary, if he could escort Mister Potter back to his guardian's house, and Harry had been quick to accept the offer. Before they had even made it out the door, the Minister was being interviewed. The two had quickly made their way to a nearby Apparition Point, politely but steadfastly refusing to answer questions, whether they be from reporters or nosey passers-by. Their only concession had been when Harry had stopped long enough to say hello to a small boy of about six who had darted into his path. Harry had complimented the boy on his stylish eyeware and patted him on his shoulder. Unnoticed by him, the mothers and teenage girls watching were chattering to each other – the former finding him 'such a sweet boy' while the latter declaring him 'so cute'. Albus had watched it all with a grin on his face. Harry could play a crowd like the best of them, and the kid didn't even know he was doing it. He found himself wondering if perhaps Fudge had been correct to fear Harry, politically speaking.

Finishing his perusal of the article, Albus put the paper down with a sigh of his own. Oh yes, Albus was sure that the Minster had gotten exactly what he had wanted from the lunch – the Wizarding World now had visual proof that The Chosen One, not to mention the Great Albus Dumbledore, where working directly with the Minister to _'defeat the evil that had infested the very heart of the community'_. Scrimgeour had gone so far as to claim that he and Albus had _'come to an agreement regarding Harry's pivotal role in this struggle for freedom from tyranny, and how the Ministry could best guide and support the brave young lad in his anointed quest'_.

Voldemort had been referred to as 'a Dark One', no doubt to complement Harry's title, but Albus had caught the slight in the name. By referring to him as _'a'_ instead of _'the'_, the Minister had basically labeled him just one of many instead of elevating him as being of special notice. The Death Eaters had been described as _'a fanatic few with delusions of grandeur'_.

Albus pushed his plate away, fearing he might be sick from the sugary-coating the Minister had put on everything. Or perhaps it was a grain of fear that was making his stomach churn, for he couldn't help but think that Voldemort would not be pleased with the interview; and his retaliation would be swift and deadly. Albus could only hope that Tom would direct his anger at Scrimgeour and the Ministry, overlooking the insinuations about Harry. It was not a charitable thought, certainly not one most would associate with the compassionate Headmaster, but as they approached their one year anniversary as a family, Albus found he couldn't deny the strong parental need to protect his son.

Sipping his honeyed tea to soothe his stomach, Albus glanced over to Harry and took in his appearance. Said boy had only picked at his food before the paper had arrived, and was now avoiding it all together. He also had shadows under his eyes, despite having slept late this morning. Concerned, Albus took a closer look and noticed that Harry's skin looked pale and his eyes were a dull green, giving him a sickly appearance. Adding it all up in his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if there was more here than met the eye. Perhaps the boy's actions and appearance were symptoms of an underlying illness.

Choosing the direct approach, he asked, "Are you not feeling well, Harry?"

Startled by the voice, the nearly-asleep Harry jerked awake, knocking his plate into his glass, which instantly fell over spilling his drink. An embarrassed Harry mumbled his apology as he jumped up and began to clean the mess with his napkin, at least until Dobby appeared and scolded him to _'leave that messy work to Dobby'_. As Harry settled back into his seat, Albus cleared his throat and repeated his question.

This time Harry heard him, and for a moment he thought about denying anything was wrong, but instantly discarded that notion as foolish and explained, "Not really. I've not been sleeping well, and last night I had a rather nasty nightmare. Not Voldemort-induced," he was quick to clarify, "just your average, run of the mill dream about bad things happening to good people."

"I see," Albus slowly replied. "Have you been forgetting to take your sleeping pills?"

"No, Sir. I take them every night, like I'm supposed to." Harry shrugged as he explained, "They just don't seem to do as much good as they used to, like maybe I'm immune to them now."

"Well, lack of peaceful slumber would certainly explain your appearance." He paused a moment as Dobby reappeared, trying to hand a new plate of food to the boy. "May I suggest that after you finish your breakfast, you take it easy for the rest of the day? Perhaps some relaxation would do the trick."

Harry looked at the new plate of food that Dobby was trying to force upon him, and felt his stomach give a particularly violent churn. "Actually, I'm not really hungry, so maybe I'll just grab a book and rest on the couch."

Before he could stand, Dobby had moved forward and cried, "But Harry Potter must eat. He is not being eating all his meals every day, and Dobby knows that Harry Potter needs to eat good so he can be strong and defeat the Nasty Wizard." As he spoke, the little elf thrust the plate full of food into Harry's hands, and with a snap of his fingers, Harry's chair had moved itself closer to the table.

At a loss, Harry looked from the plate of greasy eggs and sausage, to the elf with a determined look on his face, coming to rest on Albus, who was now looking deeply concerned. Not knowing what to do, he kept quiet as he put the plate down on the table.

"Harry … you did not tell me you were not eating again. Would you care to explain?" Albus succeeded in keeping voice even as he spoke, but Harry still turned his attention to the man.

And looking at Albus, he saw it. Disappointment; a look Harry hated to see on that face. Harry started to explain, but found his voice lacking, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "It's not as bad as Dobby makes it sound," (he shot a glare at the house elf, who laughed nervously as he twisted his ears before disappearing with a snap). "Sometimes I do skip a meal, but it's not like it's happening every day. More like once or twice a week."

Albus nodded his understanding as he asked, "Can you tell me why?"

"Well … sometimes it's because I feel nauseous, although generally I still try to eat a bit when that happens. Something like toast. Other times, my stomach feels like it's already full, even though I haven't eaten anything yet, and I just don't think it will hold any food." He reached out and fiddled with his unused fork as he continued. "And sometimes it just feels upset, like maybe I'm going to spew or something, a while after I've eaten. When that happens, I just avoid eating until it passes." Sensing that Albus was concerned, Harry was quick to add, "But there's nothing to be worried about – I'm sure its nothing serious. I mean, for the most part I can eat just fine, and, you know, it's not like I'm losing weight or anything."

"True," Albus conceded, "it does not sound like the trouble you had last summer. But I disagree with your assertion that there is nothing to be concerned about. What parent is not concerned when their child complains of not feeling well?"

Harry remained silent. After all, they both knew exactly what kind of guardian didn't care. Harry chose instead to use his fork to push around the uneaten eggs. No more was said, and Harry kept his eyes fixed on his fork, though Albus noticed it never once moved to the boy's mouth. He considered his options as he watched Harry play with the food, wondering if Harry was even aware of the fact that his egg sculpture looked remarkably like a lightening bolt.

Sitting back, he stroked his beard as he considered his options. Then it hit him. He couldn't even count the number of times he'd heard Poppy repeat the same advice – that one of the best things for a sick person is sleep. Decision made, he dismissed the boy from the table with orders to go back to bed.

Harry sighed as he stood to head back upstairs. Sleep didn't sound so bad anyways. But, he couldn't help but feel that their discussion wasn't really over, just delayed. And his premonition proved correct when he came downstairs from his nap, only to be told Albus had arranged a trip to Doctor Bombay. Remembering how uncomfortable the eccentric healer had made him last year, Harry very much wanted to insist that it was unnecessary … a complete waste of time … and he was fine now anyways, and was so hungry he could eat a horse. But he really wasn't feeling all that fine, so he swallowed his pride and unease and went with Albus to see the crazy doctor.

They arrived quick enough, and took seats in the empty waiting room until the nurse called for Harry. In an attempt to retain a little of his pride Harry asked Albus to wait outside while he was examined. Albus agreed, although Harry suspected that might have been because the man was absorbed in a Muggle ladies' magazine.

A short time later, Harry found himself sitting on the edge of the bed-like exam table, with its colorful afghan pushed out of the way. He was dressed in what had to be a Muggle hospital gown, which he kept attempting - and failing - to close tighter as he wondered what he would be facing this time. After what seemed a ridiculously long wait – which were actually about ten minutes – the door opened and the strange old man Harry remembered from his last visit walked in. The man didn't acknowledge Harry; he was too absorbed in the scroll he was reading. Today he was dressed in putrid green shorts and a plaid shirt. It was almost a stylish outfit, if one overlooked the colors, which reminded Harry of regurgitated vegetables. Every so often he would make a 'tsking' noise, and Harry desperately wanted to grab the scroll out of his hands and read it for himself.

Dr. Bombay, his stethoscope hanging from his ears, eventually put the scroll aside and acknowledged Harry's presence. He conjured a wing-back chair with extra tall legs, so he was eye level with Harry, and with fresh scroll and quill ready he proceeded to ask Harry a series of questions. Of course, at first he couldn't hear any of the answers, until an impatient Harry had finally reached and grabbed the round end of the stethoscope, shouting his answer into it.

Bombay jumped in surprise as he tried to cover his ears to stop the noise. That's when his hands hit the offending instrument, and he jerked it out of his ears and threw it onto the floor. Just to be safe, he pulled his wand and turned device into a rubber chicken. Then, acting as if nothing unusual had just happened, he settled back into his chair, and repeated his questions.

Some, like _'does your stomach feel like you've swallowed a firecracker when you eat certain foods'_, and _'is your poop black like a love potion gone wrong'_, Harry could understand, thought the wording left something to be desired. But others, like _'would you say your vomit looks more like split-pea soup or week-old beef stew'_, and _'have you recently been kissed by someone with either goblin or centaur blood'_ just made no sense to him. He had flat-out refused to answer _'do you feel you are more likely to get nauseous before or after you've waxed your wand – you're still doing that fairly regularly, yes?'_

When the questions were done, the healer had him lie down so he could do a few scans and feel his abdominal area. Lucky for Harry, this was quick, painless, and not embarrassing in the slightest.

Apparently happy with his work, and out of insane questions, Bombay turned to leave as he told Harry he could get dressed. Harry had foolishly thought he had gotten lucky, when the doctor stopped at the door, turned back, and asked for the dreaded urine sample.

Albus came into the room shortly after Harry had dressed, giving him a questioning look as he pointed to the cup of yellow liquid Harry was holding. Other than turning a bit red, he refused to acknowledge the unasked question, causing Albus to chuckle. They sat together on the exam bed waiting to hear the diagnosis.

Doctor Bombay returned a while later, and Harry thrust the sample into his hands. The doctor held it up to the light for barely a second before carelessly putting it aside as he conjured his chair again. "Good news, you're not going to die. Now the bad news, you've got yourself Ventris Inner-erosion." The doctor crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair, pleased with himself for having solved the mystery so quickly.

Harry and Albus shared a confused look; Albus finally asking, "And what, exactly, is Ventris Inner-erosion? It sounds rather serious."

"Oh it is," the doctor agreed, "it's when your stomach starts to disintegrate from the inside out. It's usually caused by overindulgence – you know, being a drunkard. Overuse of plant-based potions and over-ingestion of magical foods can also cause it. Casual use of any of those things, when combined with extreme stress, can also be a cause. Does any of that sound like you," he asked as he turned his attention from Albus to Harry.

"Yeah, I'd say extreme stress probably sums up the last few months for me. And ... I've, er, been known to eat the occasional magical foods." When asked to elaborate, he added, "Well … Canary Creams taste pretty good and ... you know … it's kinda fun to change into a bird and back. But I'll cut back, I swear," he hastened to add.

"Right you are, lad," agreed the doctor, "nothing like a good molting to get that blood flowing. But alas, too much is never a good thing."

"Aviary matters aside," Albus chuckled as he turned the conversation back to the matter at hand, "how much damage has this Ventris Inner-erosion caused, and how will you treat it?"

"Right - on to business. You're lucky this time, kid, we caught it before any real damage could be done. You let it go long enough, and you'll form holes in your stomach that let everything in there seep into your gut. Course, you'd probably be dead long before that happens from the excessive bleeding. That's why I had to ask about your poo," and he gave Harry a stern look as he added, "and I'm trusting your answer on that one. Or should I have taken a sample?"

"No, trust me … _please_ trust me," Harry pleaded as his face lost all color. He didn't even want to think about how one took that kind of sample.

"Very well," the doctor acquiesced. "Anyway, as I said, we caught it before there was heavy damage. I've got a simple potion you'll need to take before you leave today. Have you eaten anything in the last two hours?" He paused as Harry shook his head no. "Good, good, then we can get right to it."

He left the room for a moment, returning with a pewter goblet with red sparks and steam rising from it. Harry took the goblet, wrinkling his nose as he caught a whiff of the bubbling concoction. It smelled somewhat like the bleach he would sometimes use when cleaning. He swirled the cup and the dark red potion, which had the consistency of watered-down syrup, slowly moved inside the cup. Glancing up, he noticed both the others watching him expectantly, so he brought the goblet to his mouth and slowly started to tip it.

"Easiest if you're quick about it; and make sure you get it all," Bombay advised.

Harry shut his eyes tight and tipped his head back as he poured the sludge into his mouth. He gulped as quickly as he could, not stopping until nothing else fell into his mouth, before shoving the empty cup at the doctor. For about fifteen seconds nothing happened other than the strange feeling of the thick goo slowly sliding down his throat. But it felt wrong; he couldn't seem to catch his breath.

Some of the brew had made its way into his lungs, making it hard to breathe in or out. Harry was just beginning to panic when he convulsed in a coughing fit, bending forward as he did so. When the coughs stopped he looked to Albus for guidance just as the expunged liquid left his lungs. But instead of coming out his mouth, it bubbled out his nose in a bright red froth, much too similar to the color of blood for Harry's comfort. Wiping the mess away with his hand, he moaned as he looked questioningly at Bombay.

The sound of chuckling filled the room. "Guess I should have warned you about that little side effect." Bombay patted Harry's knee in a condescending manner and continued, "Next come the mild cramps, but they should only last for about fifteen minutes. I'll come back to check on you then."

As someone could be heard leaving the room, two strong arms helped Harry move so he was lying on the bed, curled on his side. The cramping had started, and there was nothing mild about it. He cracked his eyes open to find Albus watching him with a concerned look on his face.

"I'm so sorry, Seba," he groaned. "I really didn't think it was anything serious. I figured it was like last summer, and that if I just made myself eat, it would get better. I didn't realize …"

"I understand, Harry. I confess I too was concerned we were repeating your past, and though I certainly did not want you to be ill, I am glad it is not as I had feared."

They spent the rest of the time in silence, except for an occasional groan from Harry. Finally, the convulsions let up and his stomach settled back to normal just about the same time the door opened again. Bombay had him roll onto his back, and he did a few more scans, smiling as he did so. He told Harry he could sit back up while he himself backed up so he was leaning against the counter.

"All right, so here's how its got to be. Nothing solid for the next 9 ½ hours; and no juices for at least six. If you vomit at all in the next 24 hours, get back here pronto, and bring me a sample." When Harry agreed, and Albus promised to make it so, he pulled a small tablet of paper from the pocket of the lab coat he was now wearing and grabbed the nearby quill to jot something on the top paper. He ripped the page off and handed it to Albus, but Harry of course took a look at it. He immediately recognized it as a physician's prescription table – his old family had needed plenty of those – and he couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "but you're not a real doctor, and healers don't give out prescriptions."

"Maybe not in the traditional sense, but I want you to take that potion once a month to protect your _delicate_ stomach, and isn't that what a prescription is? Besides, my golfing friends use these all the time, and I wanted to look the part. To them I'm just another doctor, you know. So, get yourself some of this potion, and keep on it until you win. Then you should be fine without." Neither Harry nor Albus knew what that meant, and it showed on their faces because Bombay sighed as he explained, "you know, till the Dark One forgets how to breathe, till he's livin' with the fishes, till he takes a one-way trip to Hades … do you get it now? You take it until that which causes your greatest stress goes away."

Pocketing the slip of paper, Albus thanked Bombay for his time and guided Harry out of the exam room. After they had exited the office, Albus decided there was no sense returning to the cottage only to have to leave again for Dr. Tony's. Eating was out, so Albus instead lead Harry into a secluded walkway, and transfigured his own robes into Muggle clothes. Harry only had to remove his robe; he always wore jeans and a shirt underneath on Tuesdays. They wondered through a few stores, but neither was that excited by anything they saw. At least, not until they were leaving their third store, and Albus spotted what was across the street. A huge smile spread across his face as he practically pulled Harry to the establishment.

Once inside the dark, smoke-filled room, Harry took in the sight of his first ever bowling alley. Loud crashes could be heard over the sound of a radio playing, along with equally loud cussing. Ignoring the noise, Albus stepped up to the counter and asked for a pair of shoes in his size, and Harry followed his lead. In no time, the two had put on their rented shoes, selected their balls (Albus had actually grabbed the first purple one he found and covertly charmed it to the desired weight), and were ready to play. Neither could make much sense out of the fancy electronic scoring machine – _'Arthur would love this!'_ – so Harry had gotten some paper and a pencil from the attendant, along with a quick lesson in how to score.

A few hours later, the two had completed four games. Harry had started abysmally, getting more gutters than pins, but a kind man on the neighboring lane had given him some useful pointers and in the last game, Harry had rolled back-to-back strikes. Albus' love of the game was obvious; it was just his skill that Harry had trouble finding. In fact, Harry had actually won three out of the four games. But alas, all good things must come to an end, and Albus went to pay for the games while Harry returned their things. By the time they had left Harry's stomach was growling, but as he couldn't eat anything solid, they settled for big glasses of vegetable juice at a nearby diner.

When Albus had deemed it time, they left the diner and Apparated to their usual spot near Dr. Tony's office. It was a nice evening, and they enjoyed their walk as it gave them time to talk – not about the war or the Minister or any of that, but perfectly mundane things. For instance, as a little sports car drove by, Harry commented that he would like to learn to drive some time, and Albus confessed that he had once tried, but was not very successful. The rest of the walk had been filled with Harry begging to hear the details, which Albus steadfastly claimed he could not remember.

They arrived at their destination right on time, and Harry excused himself to the restroom while Albus filled the doctor in on their afternoon. Harry returned just in time to hear Dr. Tony ask Albus to join them in his office. Suddenly worried that he was in trouble, Harry slowly followed the two, taking his usual seat in a comfortable chair by the aquarium without making eye contact with either of the other men in the room.

Albus chose a chair near Harry's, wanting to be of some comfort as he had noticed Harry's apprehension. The doctor had taken his seat behind his desk and was leafing through Harry's file, scanning the notes from back at the beginning of their sessions together. Harry hadn't needed to look to know what the man was reading – one of his problems last summer had been a major loss of appetite coupled with near-constant nausea.

Finally pushing the file away, Tony leaned back in his chair as he carefully chose his words. "When Albus was describing your symptoms to me, it sounded suspiciously like what you went through last summer. Unlike then, however, it turned out to be an actual medical condition. But you didn't know that, did you Harry?" He paused as Harry glanced his way just long enough to shake his head. "So for me, the real question is, why did you take so long to mention the problem. You told this … Doctor Bombay was it … that you've been feeling this on and off since right before the invasion, so it's been a month. We've met something like five times since then, five sessions that always, _always_, start with me asking how you've been feeling and if there if anything I should know about. And not once did you mention this to me. I wonder; were you afraid to say something because you didn't want me to think that you'd regressed?"

Harry's head snapped up at the question, but he gave no answer. He hadn't needed to, his body language told the doctor everything he needed to know – Harry hadn't been afraid _they_ would think he had relapsed, Harry himself had been afraid he had relapsed.

"Harry," the doctor started again, "I know you won't like hearing this, but that's really for me to figure out, isn't it? You know, I can't help you if you aren't honest with me." He waited a moment, probably to let his words sink in. "So, that said, let's get started, and maybe let Albus stay for a bit, yes? Alright then … How have you been, Harry? Has anything happened that I should know about?"

Harry closed his eyes and took a breath, and as he exhaled he imagined he was pushing all his negative thoughts out at the same time – it was an exercise Tony had taught him, although he hadn't used it much since last autumn. He straightened up in his chair as he opened his eyes, and looked directly at his doctor as he answered. He began by explaining his illness, and how he had been a wee bit worried that it was a sign he was messed up again, but also that he hadn't thought it was too serious. It hadn't been a constant concern, after all.

Tony had chastised him for hiding the illness; that ignoring a potential health problem could have serious consequences. Harry agreed, "yeah, I figured that out when Bombay -"

"Doctor Bombay, Harry", Albus corrected.

"Yeah, when _he_ went on about not having a stomach. And as much as I would love to sit here and listen to more lecturing about my stupidity - and you know how I love to hear about that - there is something else I think you should know about."

Albus allowed himself to relax as Harry began to describe some of his recent nightmares, content in his knowledge that a cheeky Harry was a mentally-healthy Harry. However, as he listened to Harry's description of some recent dreams, his smile melted into a frown. He had known that after Harry had started taking his sleep aid, the muggle pharmaceutical Eupherein SA, the child had rarely experienced nightmares. It had made sense, for the drug was designed to cause feelings of euphoria while helping one fall to sleep.

But since the school invasion at the end of May, Harry had apparently been suffering through an escalating number of nightmares, and worse, some sounded like they may have been Voldemort-influenced if not directly Voldemort-induced. One in particular – in which a parselmouth Alastor Moody was conversing with a large python while Harry was being forced to practice the three Unforgivables on a roomful of Draco Malfoys – left a cold chill in his soul.

The doctor wasn't happy to hear the dreams either. He wasn't overly concerning with trying to interpret the dreams (he thought that branch of psycho-therapy was a bunch of hooey); he believed that Harry's subconscious was trying to get Harry to confront some things, and that the true meanings (if any existed) would make themselves known to Harry when Harry was ready. But in the meantime, he wanted to try an experiment. He wanted Harry to stop taking the pills for two weeks to see what happened with the dreams, and for Harry to keep a journal of every dream he had during those two weeks – good and bad – to look for patterns and themes.

Originally, Dr. Tony had planned on cutting Harry's sessions back to every other week, but together the three had decided to continue weekly at least until the experiment was over. Harry was understandably nervous; he did not want to experience another solitary moment of Voldemort's life, and blocking those dream-visions had been one of the reasons for taking the pills. But they weren't keeping the normal nightmares at bay anymore, so it was just a matter of time before the other kind picked up in frequency. And knowing that, he felt he had no choice but to try this.

This did little to comfort him as he settled into bed that night, already dreading the dreams that would come.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Ventris Inner-erosion = Ventris is a form of the Latin word for stomach. Inner-erosion, well, that just sounded nasty.

Grammar note: I don't know it other counties use 'a' and 'the' in the same fashion as we do. If not, I hope I explained the significance well enough. I imagine that small thing probably pissed Voldemort off more than anything else in the article. Being _The Dark Lord_ defines him, I think.


	7. The Avada Kedavra Curse

Oh shoot, I almost forgot the legal stuff. Silly me. Well, here it is … I don't own Harry Potter. I hope it was worth all that effort.

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**Chapter 7. The Avada Kedavra Curse**

Other than the unwelcome dreams, Harry enjoyed the rest of his first week of freedom. That's how he thought of his time at their cozy cottage in Sarag's Glen – freedom from the persona of 'Chosen One', and all the responsibility and terror that accompanied being a rallying point (or obstacle, depending on which side of the war you were on). It had been here, in Dumbledore's hidden home, where Harry had finally found a family of his own, and he supposed it would always hold a special place in his heart. Hogwarts had been the first place he had thought of as home, but it would have to share that title now. And unlike with the school, Harry would not have to leave come the end of the next school year.

Albus had recently explained that it was normal for Wizarding children to live in their familial homes well past school; and heirs or first-born sons often remained their whole lives, raising the next generation along side their elders. And in his not-so-subtle way, Albus recently had made it clear that he desired for Harry to embrace the tradition and make the cottage his permanent home - something Harry was sorely tempted to do. He might own Grimmauld Place, and indeed it would make a nice place to stay when he had business in the city (after a complete interior overhaul, mind you), but Harry couldn't see himself and Ginny raising children in the house. They had agreed that they wanted fresh air and plenty of outdoor space for their (no less than three, according to Ginny) children to explore. But he wondered that Ginny might want to live closer to her mother.

Sitting under a tall shade-tree in the clearing near the gatehouse, Harry sighed as he shook his head. He _did_ want to stay in Sarag's Glen, raising his children alongside Albus. Maybe even teach them to fly in this very clearing, which was actually the perfect place for a Quidditch pitch. Or he could even employ the secret passageway to use Hogwarts' pitch (during the summer when nobody was around, of course). There was nothing for it – he would just have to bring Ginny here so she could fall under the cottage's spell as he had.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of Hedwig, who landed gracefully on a twig on the ground near his hand. Smiling, he reached out and scratched her head affectionately before removing the letter attached to her leg. Dropping the unopened letter onto his lap, he picked up his discarded lunch sack and dumped it out so she could rummage through the remains. She hooted in a manner that clearly said 'thank you' as she chose the remains of his ham sandwich before flying up to rest in a nearby tree.

Turning his attention away from the snowy owl, he picked up the letter and opened it. One glance at the writing let him know it was from Hermione. He had exchanged two letters with her since break had started. The first mostly centered around homework assignments and his N.E.W.T. result, which he technically wasn't supposed to have yet, but he had to share the news with someone and he knew she would appreciate it the most. Thankfully, she hadn't been too upset that he'd been given his results ahead of schedule.

His other letter had gone out just yesterday, and buried within his ramblings about Quidditch plays and the latest Weird Sisters song, he had told her about his Ventris Inner-erosion. Reading her reply, he wasn't surprised that she had immediately combed through her vast reading materials so she could tell him everything she had learned about the illness and his prescribed potion. He openly laughed at her off-hand comment that it must be fascinating to visit with a true Healer. Of course, she'd continued on to scold him for overindulging in _anything_ that came from the twins.

Her letter, much like his, was also full of life's little moments. For some reason – and Harry strongly suspected it was a side effect of spending so much time with Ginny – Harry's letters this summer were, well, _wordier_. He was writing the letters as if he was actually talking to her, writing about the types of things they would have talked about had they been together at school. He would never make the connection, but his letters to Hermione this summer had the same casual ease as his letters to Ginny had last summer. If he was forced to voice his opinion, he would probably describe them as 'girly', but he had no intention of voicing that opinion. He was, after all, nearly a fully grown man!

His thoughts sobered when he got toward the end of her letter. He had innocently asked her how things were going with Terry Boot. The last he had heard, she and Terry were in that middle space of being not quite a couple yet more than just friends. But that had been before the invasion. For a while after that, it had looked like they were slipping firmly into coupledom. But then Hermione had looked like she had been crying on the train home.

He was understandably concerned, and although Ginny had told him to just leave it alone until Hermione brought it up, he couldn't help but think that in this Ginny was wrong. Hermione was his best friend – they had stood together since they were eleven – and he wasn't going to ignore her feelings now just because he was a boy. He'd done enough of that when they were thirteen. In truth, he had been slightly ticked at Ginny when she had insinuated that he should 'leave the emotional stuff to us girls' … but that was a thought for another time.

And so he had asked, in as tactful a way as he could, how things stood between her and the Ravenclaw. He must have asked it right, because she had explained it all to him. He almost wished she hadn't. He had read the situation correctly, and they had been an unofficial couple. When Hermione had met up with the boy on the train, she had thought he was going to ask her officially.

But then she explained, _'Instead, he had told me that we couldn't date until I agreed to stop hanging around with 'Potter and Weasley'. Apparently, Terry feels that proper girlfriends shouldn't spend so much time with other guys. I, of course, told him __that__ was not going to happen. As if I could just abandon my best friends for some boy. Then, after the platform incident, he sent a letter and suggested that I would be killed if I stayed friends with 'someone that is such a magnet for trouble'. That tosser! I had to tell him that I didn't think we could ever be a couple. I mean, doesn't the idiot realize that Muggleborns all have targets on our backs anyway? And before you even think it, allow me to remind you that I and I alone will choose who my friends are! And of course I choose you.'_

She had ended the letter by mentioning she was going to check out a new boy that had moved in down the street. Harry chuckled as he dropped the letter, trying to picture Hermione stalking the helpless boy before snaring him in her trap with her feminine wiles. Somehow, he had trouble seeing his studious friend as a femme fatale. Now Ginny … he could imagine that just fine. His Ginny, in a leather mini-skirt and tight jumper, a lacy – no, a soft satin push-up bra – '_thank you Malkin's Intimates catalogue'_ – underneath. Yep, she would sashay up to him in her stiletto heals and coyly ask something that sounded innocent, but really wasn't. Like 'if I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me', or maybe 'I need to count to forty-one, can you help me out?'

A hoot from a nearby tree brought him back to the present, and for the first time he could remember, he actually cursed his owl for her timing. But then … he was out in the open … maybe the disruption was for the best after all.

After cooling off and picking himself up, he decided to head back to the cottage. Albus had mentioned wanting to spend the afternoon together, and by now Dobby would have already served lunch. Harry wasn't certain what his guardian had planned; it might have to do with Albus' upcoming trip to research Horcrux hiding places, but knowing Albus it could just as easily be some more ten pin bowling. He hopped on his cherished Firebolt and flew back with Hedwig keeping pace.

As they closed in on the cottage he decided to be daring and try something he'd heard Charlie Weasley brag about years ago. He pulled up to his open bedroom window, moved so his body was flush with the broom, and slowly navigated through. It would have been a great maneuver, except he'd misjudged the size of the window opening and banged his head on his way in. Which caused him to jerk his body upward and reach a hand up to rub the sore. Which caused the ultra responsive broom to respond to his upward motion and shoot up. Which caused him to lose his one-handed grip on the broom.

At least the broom was inside the room by this time. He landed in a heap on the floor near the bed, even as his racing broom – now free of its burden and therefore rapidly accelerating – slammed into the ceiling with enough force to impale it.

The thunderous thumps alerted the household to trouble of some sort, and Dobby popped into the room mere seconds before Albus stormed through the door, wand in hand, ready to defend or attack. Both were momentarily dumbstruck by the sight that greeted them – Harry, sprawled on the floor, massaging his bruised posterior. His prized broom was embedded in the crumbling ceiling. A series of cracks, spreading out from the broom like a spider web, continued to appear across the ceiling, dropping little clouds of dust. Just as Harry opened his mouth to explain, the ceiling gave a loud moan and the center of the web crumbled, dumping grit and debris around the room. With no ceiling to support it, the broom broke free and dropped directly onto Harry's already sore head.

While Albus ascertained that Harry was bruised but not broken, valiantly attempting to hold in his laughter as he did so, Dobby made quick work of repairing the ceiling. The excitable elf was eyeballing the grimy mess left behind, eager to get started scrubbing the entire room, if the bizarre little jig he was dancing was any indication.

For his part, Albus listened to Harry's explanation, his eyes twinkling as he mentally made plans for another trip into his pensieve. He let Harry talk himself out, getting no less than four apologies for the mess and the trouble, two promises to be more careful on his broom, and one unexpected confession _("I figured if I can climb from my broom to Ginny's mid-air, that this should be easy"), _which he filed away for later use. Albus decided that the boy's bruised ego (and posterior) were punishment enough since Dobby had already repaired the damage. After only a brief scolding, he asked Harry to change into his school uniform and meet him downstairs for their promised trip.

Shortly thereafter, the two took their usual seats in the family room so Albus could explain his plan. "Several months ago, Harry, you asked for help in preparing for your inevitable next meeting with Voldemort. Several Order members answered the call, no doubt teaching you valuable fighting skills. But I couldn't help but think of the old proverb, 'it takes one to know one'. The simple truth is that none of your trainers, no matter how skilled they are, have fought against a Dark Lord personally. But I have." He paused a moment, probably for dramatic effect. "It is time, Harry, that I share my expertise with you."

"So we're going to be training today?" he asked, trying to keep his excitement out of his voice. "Then why am I dressed in school clothes?"

"Because you spend the majority of your time at school, and when you are at school you are most often dressed in those clothes. You will agree, won't you, that it is unlikely that Voldemort will give you a few moments to change into something more comfortable? Of course you agree," the man answered for himself; "and so, since you will most likely have to fight in those clothes, you should train in those clothes. It wouldn't do for you to be defeated in battle because you couldn't run well in your school shoes."

"True enough," Harry agreed, "assuming that the fight happens in the next year. Do you think that will be the case?"

"It is my hope, as strange as that may sound. I would very much like to see this whole mess resolved before you are out of school so you can concentrate on living your life." Albus watched the young man sitting across from him as he promised, "I am going to do everything in my power to insure we find the remaining Horcruxes and destroy them so he can be eliminated once and for all. Do not forget, Voldemort still intends to capture and incapacitate you, for he believes that you are not only one of his Horcruxes, but are also the only one that can defeat him."

He chuckled as he thought for a moment, "It puts him in a bit of a pickle, don't you think? On one hand, he wants to destroy _you_, his prophesized vanquisher. Yet on the other, he needs to protect what he believes is his seventh and therefore most magical Horcrux. I sometimes wonder how he reconciles the apparent contradiction … ah well, I suppose that is neither here nor there. My point is, he most definitely wants to capture you, and you can bet your last sickle that he will certainly try to do so again this year. If we can be prepared – and by prepared I mean Horcruxes all destroyed and you confidently ready to face him – then when he comes, we can turn the tables on him and end this for good."

Harry blinked as what Albus said sank in. He was particularly appreciative of his guardian's use of the word 'we', and it showed in the smile that crept across his face. But it fell away as he considered Voldemort's contradiction. In an uneasy voice he asked, "Will it still come true, do you think? The prophecy? I mean, last year I decided to ignore the thing when I decided to live now. Did that have any affect on it?"

Albus sat back in his chair and stroked his beard. "An interesting question. In one sense you are correct that, as a whole, it cannot come true. But does that make the whole of it false? In other words, is a prophecy an 'all or nothing' venture, or can it broken into parts, each of which can come true or not independently of the rest? In general I believe prophecies are considered in their total; however I am sorry to say that in our particular case it is not that simple. To begin with, I believe that the specific clause that you have disproved – that neither can live while the other survives – can be set aside, or ignored, without affecting the prophecy as a whole."

His hand left his beard and moved down to rest on his knee, as people do when they are weary or tentative. "When you think about it - and I assure you I have done so a great deal over the years – that particular part of the prophecy is rather subjective compared to the remaining parts. Its true meaning is much harder to decipher than, say, 'born to those who have thrice defied'. Granted, the word 'defy' can be interpreted in different ways, but the 'neither can live' portion seems to be a philosophical observation moreso than a prediction. As thus, I am convinced that its disproval has no impact on the rest of the prophecy. Indeed ... we already know that one of the most important parts – where he would mark you as his equal – has already come true."

He stopped for a moment for a sip of water, and Harry stayed quiet waiting for him to continue.

"Now understand Harry, no prophecy ever has to come true. However, most are also unknown by the affected parties. And when left undisturbed, they most likely will play themselves out. Professor Trelawney's second prophecy – the one she made the night Sirius escapade with Buckbeak – certainly came true with Peter Pettigrew none the wiser. But as recent history reminds us, your prophecy is different in that regard. It was known at least in part by one of the parties, which allowed him to act in such a manner as to affect its outcome." He paused a moment, cocking his head sideways in thought. "Ironic, isn't it Harry? In Voldemort's attempt to stop the prophecy, he inadvertently set it in motion. Had he never attacked, would you have been marked as his equal? … Who is to say? But the fact remains, he did mark you."

He paused again, perhaps because the look on Harry's face said that he was having trouble following along. "Perhaps I am giving more information than necessary. You only asked, after all, if your prophecy will still come true. I am afraid I believe it is destined to do so. You see, the first part has already happened. You were born at the end of July, to parents that had in fact defied him three times. And he most certainly has marked you as his equal, both literally by your scar, and metaphorically by trying, and utterly failing, to defeat you multiple times. So I am afraid that the heart of the rest … that one of you must kill the other … will come true because the proverbial ball is already rolling."

Albus stopped for another sip of water, and this time Harry did the same. He could see that Albus was deeply affected by this conversation. The man's face was looking more weathered, the wrinkles looking deeper, than Harry could recall since that angry night back in Fifth Year. A sudden, unexpected thought popped into his head, and he wondered if his own father would have been able to handle the pressure of helping him live with the prophecy. But as he put his glass down, a small smile crept across his face. James would have done just fine, he decided, but he would have made sure Harry laughed along the way. Perhaps – just maybe – Albus could use a few of those laughs today.

Across from him, Albus had drained his own glass and set it aside, ready to finish speaking his thoughts. "Most telling of all, Harry, is the simple fact that Voldemort believes in the prophecy. Believes whole-heartedly, I dare say. He puts great stock in the idea that you have the power to destroy him, and in believing that, he in effect gives you that power. Not power as in strength or magical prowess … goodness no; power in the sense that _he fears you_, Harry. He believes – whether he admits it to himself or not – he believes you can defeat him. And because he believes – because he gives you that power - he will eventually decide that the destruction of his one true enemy is worth more than having an extra Horcrux. Ultimately, there has to be a final confrontation between the two of you; and it is best that you not already be under the influence of Draught of Living Death when it should occur."

They sat for a few more minutes, each contemplating all that had been said. Harry had followed his guardian's logic, and reluctantly agreed: there would be a fight to the death because Voldemort would never leave him alone, and because he would never allow himself to be taken without a fight. Finally, Harry understood why it was so important that Voldemort not learn the rest of the prophecy. As things stood now, He-Who-Fears-Me was willing to allow Harry to live, even if only to protect the Horcrux supposedly inside him. But, should he ever learn the all-important 'either must die at the hand of the other' portion, he would surely destroy Harry, Horcrux be damned! For the first time, Harry saw his trip to the Ministry in a positive light. He still wished with all his heart that Sirius hadn't died that night, but at least the prophecy had been destroyed before Voldemort could listen to it.

Harry was pulled from his musings when Albus rose from his seat, signaling that Harry should follow him. The two made their way out through the kitchen door, picking up a picnic basket as they passed through. Once outside, they silently made their way into the woods that bordered the property. After a few steps Albus stopped, and when Harry did the same, Albus reached forward and grasped his arm. Quicker than he could blink, Harry found himself standing in another woods, but he could tell it was far away from the one he had just left. For one thing, he spotted purple Foxgloves cropping up around tree trunks, and he knew they didn't grow in his woods. And there was a dominant smell, a mossy, earthy something he couldn't place, but which he knew was foreign.

Albus had already moved to follow a pathway between the trees, and Harry fell into step behind him. They walked in silence for several minutes, until the trees abruptly stopped and Harry found himself near the edge of a cliff. Now that he was out of the trees, he could hear the roar of the sea below him, and was able to recognize the smell of the sea from that one fateful trip he had taken when he'd turned eleven. He absentmindedly followed his leader as he fondly recalled Hagrid storming the hut to rescue him.

He continued on the rugged path as it narrowed and began descending the cliff wall. Once, he nearly tripped on a loose stone, and had to steady himself on the chiseled wall to keep from plunging into the water below. He glanced over the edge as he straightened up, and below him he could see the waves crashing into the cliff wall, pieces of driftwood being pushed under by the force only to resurface broken, and he decided that perhaps this was not the time for reminiscing.

Moving again, albeit with more care in his steps, he eventually found himself stepping inside the mouth of a cavern. Albus had illuminated their way with his wand, and was leading them deeper into the cave. They followed a curve in the wide pathway only stopping when Harry could no longer see the entryway, and looking around Harry saw what one would expect to see in a sea-side cave – rough stone walls, uneven ground, and natural debris.

To say he was unimpressed would be an understatement, but Albus seemed pleased with something, so while the older man used a nifty spell that reflected the sunlight around the bend, he decided he should take another look. And that's when he noticed the little things: a metal hook anchored to a wall, a stack of seemingly forgotten wooden crates hidden in an alcove, what looked like bones next to an antique pistol. He turned to Albus, his question clear on his face.

"It is my belief that this cavern was used by smugglers or privateers in the early 1800's."

"Your belief?" Harry cut in. "You mean you weren't here when it was happening?"

"Hush, you. Rumors of my old age have been greatly exaggerated." Looking down on Harry – in full intimidation mode – he deadpanned, "I assure you I can still handle young upstarts when the need arises."

Harry held his hands up in surrender, "sorry. I didn't know you were so sensitive."

"As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, this cavern was used by young hooligans who no doubt lacked proper respect for their elders in addition to their predilection to breaking the law." He noticed the smirk on Harry's face – he had recognized the slight – but the youth said nothing aloud, and Albus continued, "I found this place not long after I had finished my education at Hogwarts, during a time of travel and self-reflection. This was well before I defeated my own Dark Lord. It was … well, it gave me the solitude I needed. I remembered its location, and over the years I have returned when I was in need of time away from the rest of the world. You will find that this place is quite isolated, almost as if time has forgotten the area, which is surprising given its location on the English Channel."

Harry wondered what more there was to that simple story; why Albus had needed time for self-reflection. He filed the information away under the heading 'Things to try to get out of Uncle Abe', and looked up as he realized Albus had said all he was going to say. Now, he knew that they were here for something important – that whatever he was going to learn here might well save a life. But he also couldn't help but remember his thoughts on his father earlier, and decided that laughter might keep the mood from turning too somber. "Er, yeah, I can see why you like the place so much … it's got that warm, homey feel to it. So, did you bring me here to teach me to self-reflect Voldemort to death?"

"Impertinent! Just for that I should leave you to figure out how to fight on your own," Albus threatened. "Although …I _have_ just gotten you trained to prepare my evening tea just as I like it … and it would be rather a nuisance to have to find and break-in a replacement." He cocked his head to the side in thought, in what Harry realized was much the same manner that Fawkes often did when someone spoke to him. After a few seconds, Albus conceded, "Very well," he sighed, "I shall train you after all, but only because I don't think I could survive another Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Harry laughed as he agreed with the sentiment while Albus conjured two cozy chairs and motioned Harry into one. "All kidding aside," the man began, "I do want you to survive, Harry. No parent should ever have to bury their own child; that would be something this old heart could not survive. So today, we are going to work on protecting you from the Unforgivables."

Harry perked up instantly. While he could shake off the Imperious Curse, he left himself vulnerable to attack as he did so. And really, it wouldn't exactly upset him if he never felt the other two again – especially since he had no reason to believe he could survive the Killing Curse a second time. He nodded as he spoke, "Sounds like a good plan."

"Naturally, I thought of it. Now, you have no doubt been told that the Unforgivables are unblockable; and that is technically true, although most certainly misleading. They are only unblockable in the sense that no other spell can stop them. For instance, when you faced Voldemort in the cemetery, you were able to block his Killing Curse only because your wand and his are related, not because your spell collided with his. Had you been using any other wand, your Disarming Spell would have had no effect, and you would have become The-Boy-Who-Dropped-Dead." Albus stopped because he could see that Harry has something to say.

"But you stopped the Killing Curse. At the Ministry – you blocked it to save me, and then Fawkes flew into it to save you."

"True, on both counts. But you will note that in neither instance was any spell used to directly block it. When I saved you, I put a physical barrier between yourself and the spell. The Curse was not stopped in a literal sense, it simply hit a different target. And of course, as a phoenix, Fawkes could not be killed. So in a rather sentimental display he dramatically took the curse that was intended for me, all the while knowing that he would be reborn shortly thereafter." Albus leaned closer as if to share a great secret and added, "He's a bit conceited about that nowadays, but I beg you not to tell him I said so."

Harry laughed as he nodded his agreement, then he said, "Well, I'm no phoenix, just a poor helpless human. So I assume you are going to teach me your technique – to move something between myself and the curse?"

"Right you are, young one. Although there is nothing wrong with dodging curses, that is not always practical. Hence, you will be learning what you have so brilliantly termed _my technique_. We will break our lesson down into three parts. First, learning to always be aware of your surroundings, so you can find something to take the hit at a moments notice. Then, recognizing the beginning of each spell so you have enough time to react – thankfully made easier by the fact that two of the Unforgivables cannot be cast nonverbally. And finally, working on physically blocking the spells."

Albus began by explaining the technique taught to Aurors for quickly scanning and noting your surroundings. He then ran Harry through several exercises. First, he simply had Harry close his eyes and answer questions about the cavern they were currently inside. To Harry's embarrassment, he only answered half the questions correctly. He had not noticed, for example, the wooden door at the end of the tunnel, nor could he correctly say how many cannon balls were on the ground (seven, in various places).

Their next exercise was similar; Harry had to describe – in as much detail as possible – different places he had been, such as the family room at the cottage and the transfiguration classroom. He did slightly better this time, but still not as good as he thought he should have. How could he have never noticed McGonagall always kept a ball of red yarn on the shelf behind her desk?

Eventually, Albus decided that Harry now knew what to pay attention to when entering a new room. Over time, he would even learn to do so under pressure. They took a short break, enjoying some cold pumpkin juice over small talk. When Albus had drained his cup, Harry took the cue and finished his own, handing it back so Albus could banish the set.

Getting back to work, Albus nonchalantly turned one of the empty crates into a small version of the work tables in the potions classroom, placing it in front of Harry. He reached into a pocket and removed three smooth stones, each the size of the palm of his hand. The first, ruby red in color, he placed to Harry's right and labeled it 'Cruciatus'. The second, a blue stone that reminded Harry of the sky outside, was labeled 'Imperious'. Before the third stone even made it to the table, Harry knew it would be green, which of course it was. Oddly, Albus did not label this last stone.

Once the stones had been placed, Albus left his chair and moved to a low shelf bolted to the wall, making a big production of placing his wand on it. Facing Harry, he then dramatically pulled down first one sleeve, then the other, clearly showing there was no wand hidden there. He then returned to his chair, which had moved to across the table, and was now facing Harry.

"A Death Eater's dream come true – me without my wand," he joked. "I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable for this next part, and constant fear that a deadly spell may be on its way might make it hard for you to concentrate. We are going to play a simple game, Harry. I will be speaking as if I am casting curses. The moment you recognize one of the Unforgivables, you need to slap the appropriate stone. Your goal is to correctly identify those three curses, preferably before I can finish the incantation. You win when I can run through thirty curses without you missing any of the Unforgivables."

Albus had been right, the game was very simple. Winning it was another story. It had taken fourteen tries before he had finally won, though Harry felt that Albus had been cheating, and he'd said as much. He kept getting confused when Albus would say "Impervius", which Harry would of course mistake for "Imperio". Harry had argued that this was clearly against the rules, because Impervius wasn't a curse. Albus countered that Death Eaters rarely followed any rules, but that if it would make him feel better, he could ask one how they felt about his tactics during his next battle with one – assuming they didn't blast him to pieces the moment he stopped fighting to speak. Harry had let the subject drop.

By the time they had finished this exercise, afternoon was changing into evening, and Albus asked Harry to help him light the cavern by transfiguring sticks into sconces, which they then filled with everlasting candles from their basket. When they finished, Albus vanished the chairs and returned the make-shift table to its original state, and Harry knew it was finally – _'finally'_ – time for the practical lesson.

For today, Albus explained, they would concentrate on using the Summoning Charm to make objects fly into the path of incoming spells. Seeing Harry's face go pale, Albus was quick to assure him of his safety. "I am aged, Harry, not senile. I will be using harmless spells, such as Rictusempra, until I am certain you have the hang of it. The goal here is to prepare you to deflect a decidedly greener spell."

Harry widely missed the first few, finding himself on the floor rolling in laughter or hopping on one foot as he rubbed the sting out of the other for the effort. But after the rocky start, he eventually worked out the right timing. It seemed that he had just worked out how to aim his Summoning Spell to get the object right where he wanted it, when Albus started casting his spells faster and waiting less time in between. To the surprise of both, Harry's accuracy increased at the quicker pace. When asked about it later, he explained that it was as if he had stopped thinking about what he was doing and had let his instincts take over; and Albus was quite pleased with that answer.

As the hexes continued to smash into every object Harry could summon, be it wooden crates, rusted cannon balls, or even chunks of broken rock, Albus changed the rules unannounced by beginning to roam around the cavern as he continued his spells. Again, Harry adapted quickly, only letting one spell make contact, and he had the smoldering jeans to prove it. He didn't let a little smoke or heat stop him – although he did use his left hand to tamp out the sparks. It was when he recognized the next spell as Ginny's famous Bat Bogey Hex that he decided it was time to do some rule changing of his own.

Instead of summoning something to block the Bat Bogey, Harry dropped to the ground and the spell flew harmlessly over his head. Albus, who had after all been expecting Harry to block the spell, was momentarily caught off guard, and Harry made his move. He fired off a Trip Jinx, catching the man just as he'd started moving forward. The jinx hit Albus squarely in the chest, ran down his legs, and pulled his feet right out from under him with such force that Albus did a somersault mid-air, landing flat on his back, arms spread out to his sides. His wand rolled away, and had there been a true enemy in sight, it surely would have been summoned away. But as it was just the two of them, it traveled a few yards before stopping harmlessly against a piece of rubble.

After momentarily freezing from the sheer shock of what he had done – he had just gotten the drop on the Mighty Albus Dumbledore! – he sprang to action and rushed over to help the man off the floor. "That was amazing … the way you flipped over! You should have seen yourself! Oh, are you alright?" he finally got around to asking, giving Albus a hand up. "You didn't break anything in that fall, did you?"

Albus glanced at the boy as he brushed off his robes. "Only my pride, I fear. That was a very nasty trick you just played, my boy." He held his hand out, and the welcomed weight of his wand fell into it.

With a grin, Harry replied, "Yeah, we'll ask the Death Eaters about that one too, shall we?" Holding his wand at the ready to defend himself if need be he added, "Are you sure you're alright? Didn't break your hip or anything, did you? I mean, I know how frail your bones must be at your age."

Albus' only reply was to shoot Harry a dirty look, but he couldn't hold the look for long and broke into a laugh. "I suppose we can be done with that exercise. You seem to have the mastered the basic skill. And I do see your point about changing the rules. I shall endeavor to follow my own guidelines in this next exercise." He asked Harry to step out of the way as he prepared. In no time, Albus had stacked three crates on top of each other, and then transfigured the stack into a marble statue of an unrecognizable person, as if the sculptor had roughed in his image but forgotten to put in the detail.

When Albus was done, he moved back so he was about ten feet away from the statue, and he motioned to Harry to join him. "Deflecting the Killing Curse, or any Unforgivable, takes much more effort than those we've been practicing with. As Unforgivables are fueled by the strongest of intent, so must your spell be; for just like with them, you have to really _mean it_. Otherwise, your object will more likely be pushed out of the way and the spell will continue on its path. To put it in Muggle terms, a bicycle will not derail a runaway train, but another runaway train will. Now, I am going to curse the statue, and you are going to protect it."

Unsaid, but understood, was that Albus was going to use the Killing Curse. It was a surreal moment for Harry, standing next to his kind and generally easy-going guardian knowing what was about to happen – that flash of green, that rush of air, and if he failed, the destruction of an innocent statue. _'not innocent, you moron, it's not even alive'_

As if he'd spoken aloud, Albus replied, "you have to want to protect the statue, Harry, or your spell will not be strong enough. You must think of it as a person, a living, breathing being. Perhaps this will help." And with a casual flick of his wand, Albus made the statue take on a more distinct appearance. The man – for there was no mistaking the chiseled features nor broad shoulders – wasn't someone Harry could place, but there was a vague sense of familiarity.

With a smirk, Harry flicked his own wand, and the face changed again, taking on the familiar hooked nose, shoulder length hair, and scowl of his Potions Professor. Albus looked from the statue to Harry and back again, one eyebrow raised in question. "Now Harry," he chided, sounding disappointed, "the point is to make you want to _save_ the victim." And with barely a move of his own wand, the face morphed once again. The hair shrank into the short, slightly shaggy style worn by Ron Weasley; the nose went from hooked to crooked; and the eyes softened in a way that reminded him strongly of Sirius.

Harry turned to Albus, but found himself unable to say anything. The teasing antics of moments ago were forgotten, and when Albus nodded his head once, Harry knew it was time. He stood next to his guardian – his mentor - holding his wand firmly in his now sweaty hand about waist high. Wide eyed, he watched as Albus brought his own wand up, aiming at the heart of the statue. He heard the first word, and although it felt like it wasn't real, like his arm was made of lead and his wand weighed at least ten pounds, he forced himself into action. As he heard Albus saying 'Kedavra', he spewed out the words as he forced his wand to direct the nearest object – the antique pistol that had lain forgotten on the cavern floor for over a century – into the path of the green light. In a shower of reddish-orange and vivid green sparks the pistol splintered, sending pellets of wood and metal around the cavern.

It had been close. The curse had very nearly reached the statue, as evidenced by the damage inflicted by the shrapnel. Had it been a living person, 'he' would have been moderately injured and possibly scarred, but surely would have survived. The shock of what had just happened, the raw power that could be felt crackling in the air, and the sudden fear of what he would someday face, it all caught up to Harry. His wand dropped forgotten from his hand as his knees turned to pudding and he sank to the floor. "Seba," he whispered, not even knowing what he was asking for.

But Albus had known, and he had moved over to help the boy stand and shoved a large piece of chocolate into his son's hands. Harry numbly ate the treat, and slowly but surely he felt warmth spreading back through his body. By this time, the air around them had returned to normal, making it easier for Harry to breath. Albus conjured a couple of cushy chairs, and the two sat in contemplative silence.

It was Albus' voice that finally invaded the stillness. "I do not know who has surprised me more tonight. I dare say, we've both learned a little something about ourselves. And more importantly, now you know … you _know_ how powerful that spell really is, and you know how to protect both yourself and your loved ones against it." He paused, and Harry wondered if Albus – like himself – found his mind filled with images of those taken by the hated spell.

"You have taken a very important step today," he eventually continued. "That spell will no longer have the power over you that it once held because you are no longer defenseless against it." He reached over and patted Harry's knee. "Now, what do you say we get this place cleaned back up and head home for a tasty supper. I am certain that Dobby will have created his usual feast for us."

It was a somber twosome that left the darkened seaside.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes: **Just to be clear, they are _not_ anywhere near the cave where Voldemort hid the locket. Can you imagine Albus self-reflecting in _that_ cave?

And put your wand allegiance conspiracies away. Albus Dumbledore is still master of his domain, ah, I mean wand. If you need an explanation – let's say it's because Harry gives it back.

Are all three Unforgivables unblockable? To tell the truth, even after I checked the books I wasn't sure. I couldn't find a single instance where one of them was blocked _by a spell, _and nobody's ever taught any counter-curses, so I decided that must be the case. It also made sense to me that two of the Curses – Cruciatus and Avada Kedavra – would have to be spoken in order to put enough hatred behind them.


	8. From a Certain Point of View

OMG. Me = HP = $? As if! LOL

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_=parseltongue=_

**Chapter 8. From a Certain Point of View**

The trip back to the cottage was thankfully uneventful, not that Harry was paying much attention. Back in the comfort of their home Harry was quick to excuse himself, ostensibly to clean up. Concerned blue eyes watched him climb up the stairs and out of sight.

Once in his pristine room, he kicked the door shut and stripped off his dirty robe. He quickly changed into some shorts and a t-shirt, but didn't quite make it into the bathroom to wash up. The big, cushy chair by the open window was beckoning, and he walked over and flopped down. Staring out at some distant point, he considered his latest adventure.

At first, Harry had been a bit shocked that Albus could toss the Avada Kedavra spell around so casually, at least until he realized that it hadn't been casual at all. Albus took no pleasure in using the Unforgivable – Harry had practically felt revulsion oozing from the man. But there had also be determination, because this _needed_ to be done. Harry needed to be confident that he could deflect the curse; one second of hesitation could literally cost someone their life. And with no Death Eater's handy, Albus had no choice but to cast the curse himself.

Certainly, Albus would never use the curse against any living being. Harry knew this to be true just as he knew that Molly Weasley would defend her children to the death if need be. It wasn't something ever spoken about; it was intuitive and came from knowing the person.

But what about himself? Could he use the Killing Curse? He had, to his utter shame, tried to use the Cruciatus Curse once … without great success. (And he couldn't decide how he felt about _that_.) In fact, he'd been ridiculed for its ineffectiveness. But in the deepest part of himself, he thought he could get it right now, _if_ the situation was right. Like if a Death Eater tried to have his way with Ginny.

It probably wasn't something to be proud of, but … well, there you go.

Being brutally honest with himself, he admitted he would even use the Imperious Curse if the situation warranted it, if it was necessary to win this war. The funny thing was, when he'd sat through the fake Moody's lecture on Unforgivables back in Fourth Year, he had never imagined that in less than three years he would be admitting (even if only to himself) that he could see himself using two of the three. But what about the third?

Oh, Harry was under no illusions. He knew he could kill – knew that he had the ability and know-how; hell, he'd done as much mere weeks ago. But that time, he hadn't really meant to; he'd only wanted to hurt Lestrange enough that he would have to stop fighting. Just like before. When he was eleven.

One could argue, he reasoned, that he had killed Professor Quirrell. Regardless of Voldemort's involvement, it had been his action – his simple touching – that had caused the man's body to shrivel and die. But Harry hadn't known that the man would die from the touch, something he didn't believe anyone could have even predicted (except perhaps Albus, but that was getting off topic).

No, Harry had been defending himself – he had only intended to make the man let go. It had not been his intent to kill; therefore, he wasn't a murderer. It was this distinction, Harry believed, that allowed Albus to say he was still 'pure of heart'. Not pure in the 'never having done wrong' sense – because really, who over the age of one could claim that? – but pure in the 'never had evil intentions' sense.

But to use the Killing Curse, he would have to mean to kill … to murder … to want to totally destroy the person. He would have to welcome a darkness into himself that once inside, would never leave. It was true, he wanted to destroy Voldemort. But could he really use that curse? Could he really bring enough evil into himself to make that curse work? For what was it Fake Moody had claimed – that without proper intent, the entire class could yell the curse at the man and he wouldn't get so much as a nosebleed ... or some such thing?

So the real question was: was his intent – to get rid of Voldemort to save himself, his loved ones, and all of Wizardkind – strong enough for the Killing Curse? Or, because there was no evil in the intent, could dear old Tom walk away with nothing more than a nosebleed? _'Or a scar on his forehead?'_

Harry sat in his room, watching through his window as the trees swayed in the breeze, and knew he couldn't answer any of his own questions. In fact, the whole topic was making his head feel like it was filled with mud. Deciding he'd had enough 'self-reflection', as Albus would call it, he took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, trying to bring the calmness from outside into himself. Through his bedroom door he could hear Albus calling him, no doubt for dinner. With a sigh, he moved from his safe cocoon and headed out of his room, banishing his dark thoughts by concentrating on the heavenly smells drifting up from the dining room.

Albus too must have decided that they had had enough serious business for the day, as he spent the meal sharing stories of his time as a student at Hogwarts. Harry always loved hearing those tales. His lingering depression lifted as Albus brought to life an adventure from his Sixth Year. One evening at dinner he'd rather ingeniously placed a Beacon Charm on a serving platter. When the tables had been cleared, he'd used a simple Rey-dahr Chant to find the platter – leading him straight to the kitchen. As Albus continued his story, going into much greater detail than necessary to describe his many attempts at opening the door before he finally figured out to tickle the pear, Harry looked at Dobby and winked. It had taken Albus until his Sixth Year to find the kitchens?

By the time Harry made it to bed that evening, his reflective mood had long since been forgotten, and he fully expected that after his customary chat with Ginny, he would fall into a peaceful sleep. He was to be sorely disappointed.

Their conversation had been anything but relaxing. First, Ginny had asked – as she always did – what he had done today. But Harry didn't want to talk about his day, or more specifically about his own confusion over using the Unforgivables, and so his answer had been noticeably vague. Ginny allowed him his half-truths, she wasn't happy about it … and he knew it.

But then he had made the real mess of things. Ginny had gleefully told him about Ron's latest sin – that she'd caught Ron bragging to the twins about his exploits with Lavender, which had (quite reasonably, he felt) caught Harry's curiosity. So instead of just agreeing that Ron was a troll (which in hindsight he realized he should have done) he had asked for details.

That was mistake number one.

Ginny, with perhaps a bit less enthusiasm in her voice, shared with him that Ron had claimed Lavender should play beater because she really knew how to handle a bat. Harry had laughed at the crude joke.

Judging by the look on Ginny's face, that was mistake number two.

In an attempt to cover himself, he tried (admittedly stupidly) to explain that it was the analogy and not the situation that he was laughing at, because most guys would have gone for the more obvious broomstick reference.

Definitely mistake number three.

Unsurprisingly, Ginny had not been amused; and she started in on women not being objects and the insensitivity of men so easily that Harry was certain she had taken pointers from her mother. But Harry had had a very trying day. He was emotionally drained, which he felt explained mistake number four. In what he would later describe as a throw-back to Fifth Year, he cut her off mid-sentence to tell her to 'shut up already'.

Not even noticing her shocked expression followed by the narrowing of her eyes he continued, "Look, I have real problems. You know … Dark Lords to kill and magical worlds to save … so _pardon me_ if I don't think Ron being an insensitive prat is Azkaban-worthy. Guys talk about girls. It happens, and you can't change that, so deal with it. I'm tired … I have a headache … and it dawned on me today that I'm going to need to _USE THE KILLING CURSE_. The last thing I needed tonight was for you to pick a fight with me because you're mad at your brothers."

"Oh, is _that _what I was doing Harry?" she demanded. "_Picking a fight?_ Because I thought I was having a simple conversation with my boyfriend. But apparently I've been wasting my time on a house-broken troll."

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but Ginny wasn't done. "You can be a real turd sometimes, you know that Potter? You think Ron can act like a berk just because he's a boy … and you can be all moody and … and _depressing_ … because you're _you_, and I'm just supposed to put up with it?"

"_No_ … I think you're supposed to put up with me being _moody_ – as you call it – because I put up with you when you're … er, _you know_."

"No, Harry," she said, in a suddenly-sweet voice that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end, "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

"I …er … it's just that, sometimes, you can be a bit … you know … temperamental. And I don't call you on it or get all nasty or anything. I just put up with it 'cause I know you can't help it."

"So I'm some crazed witch with control issues and you're just a normal guy, is that it?" she demanded to know.

"What? No … that's not what I'm saying at all. You're getting what I'm saying all confused." This was not the relaxing, comforting conversation he'd needed tonight. "Look, all I was trying to say was that right now my problems are a bit more important than yours," he tried to explain.

"You think I don't realize what being Harry Potter means? That it's somehow easier to be little Ginny Weasley? Well guess what … you might think you're fated to kill the bastard, but we're all in this fight. But you don't hear the rest of us using it as an excuse to be rude to our friends, or wallowing in our own personal little pity parties … So you don't want to use the Killing Curse? Then here's an idea – DON'T! And for your information, I never said I wanted Ron to go to Azkaban, you twit. I just want him to grow up. But I guess that's just too much to expect from you boys, now isn't it?"

And before Harry could even respond, she'd cut the connection and disappeared from his mirror.

With an exasperated growl he flopped over, not sure if he was mad at her or himself. He didn't think that could have gone any worse. What had he been thinking – shouting like that? One thing was for certain, she would make him pay dearly for his little outburst. Shifting around so he was under the covers, he stared at the ceiling trying to figure out how to appease his pissed-off girlfriend, until he finally fell into a fitful sleep. His gloomy dreams reflected his somber mood before they morphed into something much worse.

He was sitting on what must have been a raised platform, for he was looking down on those assembled. There were eight Death Eaters in attendance, most in their typical dark robes, but none wearing their masks. That was unusual, he thought. The men were arranged in an arc in front of the throne so all were in his sight. Below him there was a faint noise, and his eyes drifted over a lone figure kneeling on the floor, bent at the waist, its forehead practically touching the ground. He thought it might be a woman, judging by the curly hair, but it was hard to be certain. He'd only gotten a glimpse, for his eyes had continued of their own accord to land on the source of the sound.

A giant snake, deep brown and maroon in color, with a triangular head decorated with a blue pattern, was coiling itself around two legs of the throne. Looking up, it hissed, _=Master, will I be eating soon? You promised me a snack.=_

_=Soon, Vespa,=_ he heard himself reply, in a voice that made him want to gag. Looking back to the human prostrate before him, he commanded, "Rise, woman, and tell me again why I should allow such a pitiful witch as yourself within my presence."

The woman lifted her head in hesitation, and judging by the fear on her face and the direction she was looking, she had noticed the snake. To her credit, she got over her fear quickly, and lumbered into a standing position. She dusted the front of her ruby robes before standing regally and facing him, a self-assured look on her familiar toad-like face.

She was not, however, able to maintain eye contact; and as she spoke in her grating, sugary voice she addressed his chest instead of his face. "I can serve you as I once served the Minister. With my aid, you can finally mold our world to your glorious vision – putting mixed-breeds and mudbloods in their place." She nodded her head smugly, probably thinking he would be pleased with her answer.

But he said nothing. Instead, he turned his attention to his pet, reaching down with his hand and rubbing the top of its ugly head. In his peripheral vision, he could see that she was fidgeting, probably not expecting to be so blatantly ignored.

Growing anxious, she hastened to add, "I can help you destroy our common enemies." Her voice was higher-pitched now that she wasn't so confident of her acceptance. "Albus Dumbledore is a danger to our very way of life. And that half-blood upstart Potter needs to be taught to respect his elders. The two of them have ruined me!"

She seemed to lose herself in her ranting, obviously forgetting who she was speaking to, and to the surprise of those assembled, he allowed her to continue. "I should be Headmistress of the school …but Potter and his mudblood girlfriend tricked me – ordering those beasts to attack me. And then, the Minister was forced to resign for no other reason than that he refused to cater to the brat. I told Cornelius two years ago that he needed to have Potter committed to the mental ward, but he wouldn't listen. Those two – _Potter and Dumbledore," _she spat the names as if they more vile than the plague, "– have worked against me … twisting the truth of how I only tried to teach the children proper respect."

Finally remembering herself, she cleared her throat and added, "I want to see control back in the hands of proper witches and wizards, and put the filth in their place. I know you want this too. I want to join you and help you fix our society. And I want to help you destroy _them_."

Behind the woman, several of the Death Eaters gasped at hearing the woman talk to their Lord as if she was an equal. Ignoring them – probably wondering what their problem was – she glanced to his face before quickly looking down again.

If he hadn't stopped petting his snake to turn his attention back to her, one might have thought he hadn't even listened. He said nothing, and gave nothing away, but he was genuinely amused by her tale. It was as if she had completely forgotten that their only crime had been to tell the truth. Or maybe that had just been her excuse to make a grab for power, for she had by all accounts enjoyed her time as High Inquisitor and then as Headmistress.

As the silence wore on, she visibly began to lose her composure. Finally, it became too much for her, and she spoke out again. "I tried to do it on my own, but I just wasn't able to get it done. Potter is too well protected."

"My Lord," a voice interrupted, "she speaks of the Dementor attack in Little Whinging. If I recall, Potter was alone with a Muggle at the time, and he managed to repel the two Dementors by himself."

Umbridge began sputtering, wanting to defend herself; but Voldemort was faster. "Thank you Yaxley, but I believe the lady has something she wants to add."

Some of the Death Eaters began to chuckle. They recognized the polite words for what they really were - an invitation to hang herself.

"I speak not of the Dementors," she explained, her voice back to its sugary-sweetness in response to his politeness. "Although, I will point out that the boy had been given unauthorized and undocumented private lessons in how to repel the Dementors. I am speaking of my efforts this past year." She smiled, knowing he would be impressed with what she was about to say.

"I leaked information about Potter's weaknesses, but the normally fickle public chose to pity him. I even had my house elf curse him – a brilliant curse that could have never been detected and would have resulted in his expulsion from the school, but my incompetent little beast of an elf must have done it wrong. Then the stupid thing got itself caught when I sent it back to the school to find proof of his guardian's identity."

That had his attention, though he gave nothing away. He leaned back in his throne as he casually asked, "You are the one behind the attack on the train last September? The one where Potter was injured?"

Thinking she had said something that had pleased the one she hoped would be her new co-conspirator, she straightened her back as she boasted, "Oh yes … I confess that the injury wasn't the real intent, but I was so pleased when Bert reported it to me. But then Potter was found before he could die. Dumbledore certainly keeps close tabs on the brat."

He stood from his throne and addressed his followers, "Do you hear the woman! She almost killed the boy, by accident no less. And she thinks this endears her to me!" He looked down to the confused woman. "_Potter is mine!_ And his fate rests in my hands, and my hands alone." He leaned toward her as he nearly hissed, "you have made a grave mistake. But ... Lord Voldemort can be forgiving. Oh yes, I understand ... it is human nature to make mistakes, is it not? Shall I allow you a chance to redeem yourself?"

Umbridge tried desperately to regain her composure, but it was a losing battle as she was caught in the power of those vivid red eyes. She stammered, "I am s-s-sorry ... I meant no harm. I never intended to kill the boy, only to neutralize him – to … to make him pay for what he had done to me. Please, tell me how to make it up to you, and I will do it."

He straightened, and his tone became much calmer, almost what one would call pleasant, if it wasn't coming from the mouth of a Dark Lord. "Of that I have no doubt, witch ... My Vespa is hungry, and I simply need you to feed her for me. You can do that without messing up, can you not?" He nearly smiled – or at least did what passed for a smile on his featureless face – as he sent a spell at the witch so fast most in the room hadn't noticed him cast.

But all noticed as Dolores Umbridge disappeared, replaced with what could only be described as an adorable little kitten, covered in fuzzy brown hair which seemed to curl around the face. Its big eyes darted around as it meowed in a pitiful, pleading manner. The Dolores-kitten took a hesitant step forward when the second strike occurred – Vespa had slithered around unseen and now moved with lightening speed, grabbing the kitten's head in its powerful jaws. Raising its body into the air, it tossed its head back as it opened its jaw wider, forcing the kitten inside its mouth. With a snap, its jaw closed over the treat, and the contented snake nodded to its master before slithering off to digest its meal, a small lump quite noticeable just behind its head.

Voldemort turned back to his Death Eaters. "I trust there will be no more mistakes where Potter is concerned. Vespa is young, and I do not think it would be good for her digestive tract to overeat."

His eyes swept his assembled followers, and some cowered in fear while the few made of sturdier stuff (or perhaps not already in their Lord's disgrace) stood calmly. Yaxley, having had many dealings with the dumpy witch at the Ministry, openly laughed at her fitting demise. He had often voiced his hated for the kitten-covered decorations in the woman's office.

When he spoke again, he had their full attention. "Well, that was a pleasant diversion. I am sure we are all thankful to Crabbe here for bringing us tonight's entertainment. Perhaps, Crabbe, you have a use to us after all." He moved back to his throne, and when he spoke again, everyone knew play-time was over. "Our time is near. Soon, we will realize our grand vision, and Dumbledore and his pathetic band of bloodless fools will be of no consequence." He turned his attention toward two men standing together nearest the door. "Yaxley … Dolohov … you are prepared, yes? … I was not certain I should trust such important tasks to others, given my disappointment in dear Lucius. I trust I will not be disappointed again?"

"Never, my Lord," replied Yaxley, with just the right amount of respect in his voice. "You have put your faith in the right men." The unspoken 'this time' hung in the air.

"Of course," his amused voice replied, "you will not allow yourself to fail, will you? I can sense your desire to show up your colleagues. All your men are in place?"

"Yes," the Ministry man replied. "Everything will go as planned."

"See that it does." He moved around a bit, probably to let his followers stew, before he stopped in front of the only woman present. "And you, Bella? You are prepared for your part, yes?"

"Yes, my Lord … of course my Lord. But I wonder …" she hesitated a moment, no longer certain in her status with her master. He waited patiently, and she found her voice, "I wonder if I might be of more use to you –"

"Without your magic, you are of very little use to me," he ruthlessly cut her off. "Or am I mistaken, and your wand it working again."

"You know it is not, my Lord," she meekly answered, her head hanging. "I only thought –"

"Another thing you cannot do very well, Bella." Around the two, several snickers could be heard. "You will do as you have been told." Louder he added, "You_ all_ will do as you have been told, and I shall be victorious."

The sound of someone entering the room caused him to shift his attention. "Ah, Wormtail. What brings you into my inner sanctum?"

"A message from S-snape, your Lordship. He says … th-that he regrets he has no Veritaserum on hand, b-b-but he will have a new batch finished in three days … and-and he will send it the moment it is bottled."

It never paid to be the messenger in Voldemort's court, and tonight was no exception. Since Snape was not available to punish, he turned his wand on the bearer of the bad news. Just as his spell hit its target, a sharp pain erupted across his forehead.

.

In his surprise at feeling the phantom pain, he dropped the spell almost immediately. Lest his followers think he'd grown weak, he nonchalantly told his victim to consider himself lucky that he was in such a good mood for having dealt with Umbridge. He turned his back to the lot of them and made his way to his throne, massaging his strangely sore temple while out of their sight. He gracefully lowered himself into his seat and for good measure, glowered at those he was most displeased with before barking their dismissal.

Once alone, he considered how the meeting had gone. Getting rid of Umbridge had been on his list for months now, but feeding her to Vespa had been truly inspired. How could the stupid witch have ever thought that he would believe she could be loyal? She might have been like-minded when it came to mudbloods and creatures (in fact, she seemed more rapid than him in that regard), but she wanted power. She had tasted it when she had taken over Hogwarts, and he knew that she would never be happy as an underling. No, she had already been slated for permanent sleep even before she had confessed to her attacks on his Most Precious Horcrux.

For that crime, she deserved worse than the Killing Curse, and slowly being digested by Vespa fit the bill. He wasn't sure if she would suffocate before the snake's digestive juices had the chance to dissolve her body, but it didn't matter. Either one should be sufficiently painful, and it was a fitting punishment for someone who held all magical creatures in such disdain – to become the low being on the magical food chain.

Oh yes, Dumbledore had had the right measure of that woman; but somehow, he didn't think the old man's standard punishment of twinkling someone to death would have worked on her. It would have been fun to watch, though … Dumbledore's patented 'I'm so disappointed' look versus her 'aren't I perfectly proper' demeanor. They would probably posture for hours before one of them gave in. And he was certain it would have been her; it took a far stronger wizard than her to withstand that look. He often thought it had to do with the way Dumbledore looked over his glasses at the person.

Did he just think well of Dumbledore? Wouldn't his followers just wet themselves if they could read his thoughts now! But of course, few of them were talented enough to master Legilimency. And far fewer were brave enough to look him in the eye!

But thoughts of Dumbledore and Horcruxes inevitably lead him back to the prophecy. Lately, he had been wondering how it all fit together. He summoned a bottle of wine and relaxed with a glass (thank Morgana for that cushy seat), pondering the possibilities.

He knew those words by heart: "_The one with the power_ (surely not magical power – the kid just wasn't that special, but then, what other kind of power was there?) _to vanquish_ (which must be defined as conquer or defeat, for his Horcruxes had made it impossible for him to be killed) _the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies__ ..."_

And he had chosen the Potters – that troublesome blood-traitor and his disgusting mudblood wife – as the ones more likely to have given birth to his supposed 'vanquisher'. Never …not to anyone … would he admit that there had even been a choice; that he could have gone after a Pureblood boy. After all, both sets of parents had unbelievably managed to defy him three times. But in the end, both had paid the price for that arrogance, hadn't they?

But no, he had instinctively known that the half-blood would be the real threat. And he'd been right. He'd heard enough about the Longbottom offspring from Pettigrew and Snape to know that it barely had enough power to be called magical. 'Vanquishing' a Dark Lord would have been impossible for that one.

Sometimes, when he'd had too much wine and not enough sleep, he would wonder what would have happened if he had gone after Longbottom instead of Potter. But awake, alert and stone-sober, he knew that it wouldn't have mattered, he still would have gone after the Potter child eventually. That one had power, he had recognized it that Halloween night, no matter how he had wanted to deny it.

How else could you account for his not only surviving the Killing Curse, but managing to steal a piece of Voldemort's soul in the process? Yes, Potter had to be the one the prophecy foresaw. Ergo, the unknown portion of the prophecy must allow for Horcrux Harry to exist. And that made sense, in a manner. Dumbledore knew the rest of the blasted thing, and he had put around-the-clock protection on the Ministry recording to keep Voldemort from getting it. And really, if that very act hadn't proven that the prophecy contained information that would have helped him win, nothing did.

So, what was he missing? He remembered studying Prophecy for his Divination N.E.W.T. It's wording was often tricky; many times there was double meaning buried in the words. That was why he'd studied the meanings of the words themselves – knowing, for example, the various definitions for 'vanquish' had lead him to the realization that he could (in theory only, mind you) be defeated even though he couldn't be killed. That was actually one of the reasons he had decided to take over the Ministry. If he was the one that controlled the government, then no one – not Potter, not Dumbledore or his pitiful little club – would stand a chance of defeating him.

To be safe, he had studied every possible interpretation to every word that he knew. He had even considered that the 'seventh month' reference hadn't meant July at all, but maybe the seventh month after the telling of the prophecy. But he had easily dismissed this idea, for Potter's continued ability to live despite not only repeated attempts on his life but also his disgraceful Muggle upbringing, had cemented him as the prophesized one.

No, everything that had happened to date had to have been in accordance with the prophecy. And he had fallen right into it's trap. He had acted rashly before, thinking he needed to wait until the child had been 'born as the seventh month died' before destroying it, when the right thing to do would have been to stop it from being born altogether. But his mistake had only cost him a few years and a couple of servants, and little else. He had a body again … was as powerful as ever … and was probably even smarter for the experience due to his time in Albania, not that he would be thanking anyone for that!

The truth, he now realized, was that the fact that the boy had the power to vanquish him wasn't really all that important. Just because Potter _could_ vanquish him didn't mean that Potter _would_ vanquish him. There must be something in the unknown portion that was the real key. Perhaps it had gone on to say how the boy could vanquish him?

Could that be it? But no, for if that was the case Dumbledore would have no doubt already sent the boy out to save the world from the darkness. He laughed aloud – a cackling sound more reminiscent of insanity than joy – at the image of little Potter, dressed in full chain-mail armor, riding on a great white horse with Gryffindor's pathetic little sword in hand, ready to slay the scary Dark Lord. He nearly spilled his wine for the effort.

Definitely not the recipe for vanquishing, then.

Perhaps the rest of the prophecy hadn't had anything to do with him; maybe it only covered the rest of Potter's meager existence – like if he would marry, or have children. But no, none of that could happen. Potter was going to be in his grasp, contained, for the rest of time. No little Potter pups for him. Maybe, in the ultimate show of irony (something he was sadly coming to appreciate), there was no more to the prophecy. Had Snape actually heard all the relevant information, and what was missing was simple filler? It could be something useless, like 'born with eyes of green', or 'born under the sign of the Lion'. Or dare he wish it was something like, 'but he will fail', although perhaps _that _was too much to ask for.

He drained his wine, bitterly thinking about the lost prophecy. It had been over a year since the recording had been shattered, and try as he might, he couldn't stop obsessing over the lost verbiage. But it no longer mattered, he reasoned. Soon, the Ministry would be in his control; then, he would be untouchable. He rose from his seat and called for Nagini, only remembering after the act that his beloved Nagini was no more. In Romania, there was a dragon that would pay dearly. Perhaps he would mount its head on his wall, like those foolish Muggle hunters did with their kills.

The lonely Lord left his hollow throne room and headed to the library. He would need to do some research if he was to get around the new security measures at the dragon preserve.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Did anyone notice how Tom contradicted himself and twisted words to fit what he wanted? I've seen those traits in real-life people who have the need to be the center of attention, and I thought it would also fit him. And can't you see young Tom studying hard for that Divination NEWT? Of course he took the class – he would have wanted to be able to predict the future to give himself an advantage.

Timeline alert – this was the 4th of July, for those keeping track.

Spells: the Beacon Charm and the Ray-dahr Chant are used together to help you find a lost object. (Ray-dahr - radar - get it?) You put the Beacon Charm on something you fear you might lose; and if you do, you walk around waving your wand and saying the Ray-dahr Chant. The quicker you hear the echo of your chant, the closer you are to the object.


	9. Time with Aberforth

Three things you might want to know about me: I didn't make up any of the recognizable characters, didn't write books 1 through 5 of the HP series, and I've never bungee jumped.

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**Chapter 9. Time with Aberforth**

In a darkened bedroom in Sarag's Glen, Harry abruptly shot up in his bed, pain shooting across his forehead. He felt his stomach rolling, but swallowed thickly in an attempt to force its contents to stay put. Somewhere, The Traitor was being punished for Snape's empty cupboard. _'I'll have the thank Snape for that sometime.'_

Harry climbed out of bed and went to his bathroom, where he splashed cool water on his face and took a drink of the soothing liquid before returning. Once he'd settled back onto his bed, he pulled out his dream journal and wrote down everything he could remember from the vision – from his first sight of the Death Eaters to Pettigrew's punishment. He made certain he'd identified the Death Eaters he had recognized, as well as describing the one named Yaxley (although that was more to cement the man's appearance in his own mind than to aid Albus, who he was sure already knew of the man).

It may not have been nice of him, but he couldn't help but smile as he described with particular relish the demise of his all-time worst, most hated Professor. Even good 'ole Quirinus 'guess what's under my turban' Quirrell hadn't been _that _bad – he'd only really attacked Harry that one time, and even then it wasn't really him doing it. If anyone on the planet deserved such a horrific death, it was old toady herself. Re-reading his description, he couldn't help but gaze at the words still visible on his hand, and a feeling of vindication shot through him as he realized he had beaten her at her own game. He was learning defensive magic that was far beyond her feeble capabilities, while she was getting an in-depth education on the digestive system of reptiles.

When he'd finished writing, he set the book aside and checked the clock. It was only two in the morning, but he didn't want to go back to sleep. What if the meeting wasn't over, and he was pulled back in? Through his open window he could hear the animals that made their home in the woods, and he moved to his favorite chair and looked out over the yard. The moon was nearly full, easily bright enough to illuminate the grounds below, and Harry leaned onto the windowsill as he watched nothing in particular. Taking notice of the wildflowers swaying in the light breeze near the edge of the woods, he perked up as inspiration struck.

He jumped up and threw on a bathrobe, grabbed his wand, and rushed out of the room. Half an hour later he returned with a handful of the pink and yellow wildflowers. Some carefully placed cutting charms and one gentle cleansing charm, and he had a presentable bouquet. Sitting at this desk, he grabbed a blank scrap of parchment and wrote a simple note:

_My human is an idiot, but he loves you. Hedwig_

He walked over to his sleeping owl and coaxed her awake. She didn't seem pleased, and he found himself begging his owl to take the note and the flowers to Ginny. He didn't know if she had understood what he'd explained (though he suspected she did), or if it was the promise of crisp bacon upon her return, but she eventually presented her leg. He watched her fly into the moonlit sky, only returning to his bed when he'd lost sight of her. With a sigh, he settled in and let sleep claim him again.

Albus noticed Harry's quiet mood at breakfast, but had assumed it was due to yesterday's emotional training coupled with the dream he had just read about. Thinking he understood the situation, he didn't question the boy. Just as they were finishing their meal, Hedwig flew into the room. She landed on the table in front of Harry, who looked at her leg hopefully, but she actually seemed to shake her head 'no' before hooting mournfully. Harry put all his remaining bacon at Hedwig's feet before leaving the table, a now-curious Albus watching his retreat.

Harry spent his morning in the meadow by the school gate. He had decided to work off some aggression by practicing Battleball, the sport he'd joined at school last year. He'd gathered a small pile of nut shells and enchanted them to bounce, and he was throwing them at the trees with all his might. Despite his charms, several shattered upon impact, which made him rather glad he was only targeting trees and not his fellow players.

He'd worked up quite a sweat, and had taken a seat on an old log to rest when he spotted an owl winging its way to him. As it got closer, he recognized the large grey shape of Errol. His heart was beating heavily in his chest as he took the letter from the owl, and in his excitement he nearly forgot to give the poor bird a treat. He was already ripping the envelope open when he realized that the handwriting on the outside wasn't Ginny's. Suddenly suspicious, he picked up his wand and cast a few revealing charms, but nothing seemed off so went ahead and opened the letter:

_Harry Dear, You are like a son to me; you have been since that first summer you came to stay, and you always will be. Ginny shared with me what happened last night, and as much as I love my daughter, I've decided that your need for a mother is greater. _

_First, let me say that the note and the flowers were a perfect first step. But now you need to follow it up correctly. When you talk to her tonight – and you will contact her, young man – you must start by apologizing. The man should always apologize Harry, never forget that._

_Things will go much smoother for you in the future if you do. Why I remember one time when Arthur and I got in quite the argument because his Aunt Britannia had wanted us to name Charlie after her late husband Ichabod. I wouldn't speak to him for a week until he apologized for not agreeing that Ichabod was a horrid name for a baby. You see, I got over him not speaking up long before I got over him not apologizing._

_My point is, you need to tell her you are sorry, and mean it! When she hears that, she will calm down enough to listen to the rest of what you have to say. Start by assuring her that you still love her, and then explain why you were upset. And a little of Honeydukes finest wouldn't go amiss, either. Just be yourself, Dear, and speak from the heart. No woman can resist that._

_With love, Mother Molly_

.

A slightly happier Harry returned to the cottage and over dinner he explained what had happened. Albus had asked to read the note from Molly, and when he'd finished he suggested that Harry keep it always, as it held more insight into the inner workings of a woman's mind than most books on the subject. Harry readily agreed; he'd already planned on keeping it as soon as he had read the signature line.

With their meal over, Albus suggested they play Life to distract him from his troubles, which somehow turned into a contest to see who could enchant their little plastic car the best. Albus won of course – his car was decorated with yellow flames that were actually hot to the touch, it seated twenty plastic people, and it honked when you tapped it; while Harry's greatest achievement was to make his turn left on command. It had been a silly exercise, but it had gotten Harry to relax, and he went to his room that night with a lighter heart.

He got ready for sleep quickly, and as he settled onto his bed he pulled his mirror out. He was trying to gather the nerve to call for Ginny when the initiative was taken out of his hands, as evidenced by it vibrations. A moment later her beautiful face appeared, smiling tentatively, and Harry knew they would work this out.

Following the expert's advice, the first thing he said – after blurting out 'I love you' – was that he was sorry for the way he had acted. Ginny raised an eyebrow at that, silently prompting him to explain, and he spent the next fifteen minutes telling her how he had spent that day, and the mood he had been in, and most importantly, that he realized he should have told her what his problem was instead of shouting at her.

Before he'd even realized it, she'd also said the magic words and they were laughing together over Ron's latest stupid moment – neither noticing the irony in the topic. When they finally finished their conversation almost two hours later, Harry felt their relationship was stronger than ever. His final thoughts before drifting off to sleep were about finding the perfect wedding ring.

The next day flew by quickly as Harry was in a much better mood, albeit a bit preoccupied. He had awakened that morning to realize that he had a lot of planning to do if he and Ginny were going to elope this summer. Yes, they could wait until they were back at school and sneak away on a Hogsmeade weekend, but the simple fact was neither wanted to wait that long. Harry had meant what he had said – that there was no guarantee he would survive – and neither of them saw any point in risking fate. In fact, he was so absorbed in his plotting that it had barely registered when Albus told him about an upcoming trip he was taking to visit one of the last Lestrange relatives, a many-times great aunt to the brothers grim.

Monday morning, a drowsy Harry (he and Ginny had talked very late the night before) came down the stairs for breakfast and slid into his usual seat, not paying attention to the old man hidden behind the paper. It wasn't until he heard the unmistakable bleating of a goat that he took a closer look at the white-haired wizard sitting next to him.

Upon seeing the shocked look on the boys face, Aberforth broke into a full-gutted laugh. "Surprised by something, Harry-me-lad?"

Covering quickly, he responded, "Only that you had the guts to bring Brian here. I'm beginning to think you're as crazy as the old man likes to make you out to be."

"I assure you," he answered back, trying his best to look offended, "I am just as sane as my dear brother!"

"Yeah, well that's not really saying much, now is it?" a much more awake Harry shot back.

Abe laughed again, "No … I don't suppose it is. But what about the boy who chose to become a part of this family? What does that say about _his_ sanity, hmm?"

Harry snorted as he began to fill his plate, "Personally, I think it's a sure sign that he was so starved for love and affection that he would accept it from anyone who showed it. Makes one wonder," he added, tipping his head as if deep in thought, "what if dear old Voldemort had tried to hug me instead of kill me at the Ministry?" The two looked at each other in wonder; Abe with a huge smile on his face, no doubt trying to picture the snake-like man professing love and offering hugs to his followers.

Harry too began smiling at the absurd image, at least until he placed himself in the picture. "Ugh, that would have made Nagini my mother-figure. Or …" and here he visibly shuddered "dare I say, Bellatrix." He pushed away from the table, a fearful look on his face. "I can't get that image out of my head – Voldemort reading me a bedtime story while Bellatrix pats me on the head. Make it stop, Uncle Abe. _Make it stop!_"

"That's stuff of nightmares, surely that is. Try picturing my brother naked … that should get those other images out of your mind. You do realize he's not wearing pants under those fancy robes of his, don't ya?" Laughing at the new paleness of Harry's face, he returned to his paper. From behind it, he added, "Best get back to your food now. Those eggs ain't gonna eat themselves."

Harry did move back to the table, but decided it wasn't normal for Abe to worry about his eating habits, so he carefully avoided the eggs as he continued to fill his plate. Harry ate his meal mostly in silence, but as he finished his curiosity got the better of him and he asked, "Was that really Brian I heard?" When Abe confirmed this, he continued, "Why did you bring him here?"

"Don't know how long I'll be here, now do I? I learned a long time ago that just because Albus says he'll only be gone a day or two doesn't mean he'll only be gone a day or two." As Abe said this, his face lost some of its merriment, but when he turned to Harry a moment later the smile came back. "Besides, I don't want to return to the pub to find lamb chops on the menu."

Now, Harry had come to realize that the Dumbledore brothers were more alike than most realized. They were both mischievous when the situation allowed, they both sang loudly and off-key in the shower (and how he wished his didn't know that!), and they were both masters of redirecting other people's attention without them even noticing.

But Harry had been around them too long now, and notice he did. "OK, first, you do know that lamb chops come from lambs and not goats, right? And second, why did you look upset about possibly being here for more than two days? I thought you liked me. Or … was it that he's done it before – said he'd be gone for a few days but stayed away longer, and that's what you were thinking about?"

Abe gave Harry a penetrating look. "Always knew you were a smart one. Yes, fine, I admit, lamb chops come from lambs and goat chops come from goats. Happy?"

Harry knew what was really being said – don't ask about the past – and he let it go for now, but swore to himself that some day he would find out what had happened between the brothers.

After breakfast Harry invited Abe to sit with him on the back patio, and the two sat together watching Brian eat wildflowers. Harry was also covertly watching his beloved Uncle, a plan forming in his mind. As the goat devoured more of the flowers, he casually said, "You know, I'm rather surprised that you are able to leave the pub for a few days. You didn't have to close it down to stay with me, did you?" When Abe grumpily said no, he continued, "Good … I'd hate to think of you losing business on my account. But … who can you trust enough to watch the place without drinking all your stock? Surely not someone like Mundungus Fletcher!"

"Bite your tongue, boy! Fletcher ain't allowed in my bar and he knows it. And nice as it is to think you're concerned about protecting my livelihood, why don't you just tell me what you're really after? I don't play mind games with an unarmed opponent. HA!" This last was added as he wagged his finger at the boy.

Harry knew his plan to get Abe to leave for a spell had failed – _'he's no Dung'_ – and decided he might as well tell the truth. "Ginny and I had a fight. We talked it out and all, but … someone suggested that I should send her a gift, like candy for something. I know I shouldn't go into Hogsmeade, so …" he trailed off.

"So you thought you would convince me I needed to rush off to check on my bar, and maybe I could stop off and pick up your candy while I was gone?" With a gruff laugh he added, "Let's get this straight right now: I'm your babysitter, not your house-elf."

With a smirk, Harry replied, "Yeah, not my best plan. You probably would have messed it up terribly anyway, and gotten something stupid like blood pops. But you know, since you're my _bodyguard _for the day, you could take me on an outing – not to Hogsmeade, but how about down to the village?" Seeing the cynical look on the others face, he added, "You never know, it might be fun. It's just a harmless little Muggle village of farmers and the like. There might even be goats," he slyly added.

In the end, Abe agreed to take Harry shopping in the village, thought probably more to defy Albus than for any reason Harry could think up. Harry was already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, so he only needed to grab a ball cap to feel confident he wouldn't rouse any suspicion or recognition. Before Abe had the chance to protest too much, Harry transfigured his robes into dungarees and a faded rugby shirt. The clothes looked wrinkled and worn, which matched the man's personality. For safety's sake, they both hid their wands inconspicuously on themselves – Harry's stuck in the dangerous back pocket and Abe's tucked inside his sock. Abe had also made Harry promise that if there was trouble, he would follow Albus' emergency protocol, and head straight to Gryffindor Tower at the school.

The two walked close together on their way into the village, bumping and stumbling into each other at times. They quickly arrived at the edge of the village, and it didn't take long for Harry to realize that calling it a village was overly generous. Other than a few scattered houses and a post office that looked abandoned, the only building they found was a combination gas station and convenience store. Sarag's Glen actually reminded Harry of a wizarding village; it was definitely the land that time forgot. The gas pump, for instance, looked like it belonged in a museum; it had to have been in service since the 1950's. Five minutes into their trip, they had seen all there was to see, and Harry was both bored and candy-less.

Abe could see the boy's disappointment, and against his better judgment (or actually, _with_ his better judgment, seeing as he usually believed that whatever Albus says to do, you should do the opposite) he offered to take Harry to a real village.

Harry knew he should refuse the offer – safety, and all that – but now he really wanted to go somewhere. He would never say so aloud, but at least at Privet Drive, he had been able to roam the neighborhood, affording him contact with other people, even if they weren't exactly friendly. The cottage's one drawback was also its greatest asset – that it was so secluded that no one would stumble across it. Harry hadn't noticed that last summer. Maybe because of the mood he'd been in when he'd first arrived, or maybe because McGonagall had joined them for the second half of his stay. Whichever it was, he hadn't noticed until this summer just how lonely the place could be. Suddenly, he realized he _really_ wanted to be around people. That thought in mind, he agreed, and before he could change his mind Abe had grabbed hold of his arm and he felt himself disappear.

A few seconds later, he looked around and saw that they were standing inside an old barn. With a sideways look at Abe, he walked to the closest window and scoped out their location. They appeared to be at the edge of a perfectly normal-sized village. Abe walked to a door, and motioned for Harry to follow him.

Keeping their muggle attire, Harry let Abe take the lead. They made their way onto the street – no sidewalks here – and following it into the heart of the village. Just as they reached the village square, a perfectly manicured park complete with a non-descript war memorial, Abe stumbled into Harry's side. As he apologized, he pointed across the way. Tucked beside the post office was a small, cozy looking shop with bright blue canopies over the windows and door, and frilly lace curtains visible inside. Fancy curving letters spelled out _Confectionary Delights _in gold lettering on a blue board nailed next to the door_._

Harry entered and wandered around the shop, which reminded him a little too much of Madame Puddifoot's for comfort. Along the back wall, he found a display of international chocolates, but he was out of his element and he knew it. The woman behind the counter, a thin grandmotherly figure, complete with a shawl around her shoulders, came over to help.

While Abe chatted with the woman (Harry thought he might be trying to pick her up, but with Abe it was hard to tell), Harry had a hard time figuring out what to buy. Eventually, when he was afraid that Abe's strange idea of small talk seemed to have convinced the woman that he was a bit off his rocker, Harry decided he'd better finish up. Thinking that if a little chocolate got him good marks, than a lot of chocolate would get him better marks, he selected boxes of Godiva and other fancy Muggle chocolates as well as an assortment of the home-made candies being sold. He also grabbed a smaller boxed assortment as a thank you for some well-needed advice. As the shopkeeper gift-wrapped the boxes, she commended him for taking his mentally-challenged grandfather along on his outing, and Harry grinned as he graciously accepted her praise.

Not wanting the chocolates to melt in the sun, Harry ducked into the vestibule of the nearby church and summoned Dobby, who couldn't believe he had the honor of delivering Harry's special treat to his Lady Ginny. As the elf disappeared, Harry did his best to ignore his chuckling Uncle.

His task accomplished, Harry was of the mind that they should return to the cottage. He'd satisfied his need for contact with the outside world, and he was starting to feel guilty over leaving in the first place. He didn't even know where he was, for goodness sake. But Uncle Abe was of a different mind, and he pulled Harry though some alleys until they finally arrived at a bowling establishment attached to the back of a pub. Harry smirked; the brothers were more alike than they would ever admit.

A couple of hours later, Harry conceded defeat. He and Abe had actually been pretty evenly matched, despite Abe's odd bowling style. But a bit of luck at the end (Harry suspected magic was involved) had given Abe the edge, and he won their little tournament two games to one. As they turned in their gear, Harry's stomach began to grumble, reminding him that they had missed lunch. Abe wanted to head into the pub for a bite to eat and a drink or two, but Harry really felt they had already pushed their luck enough. Calling the boy a spoil-sport, Abe acquiesced, and they two made their way back to the barn they had first appeared in. Once secured inside, Abe shouted 'see you at home' and disappeared. Harry shook his head in amusement as he too vanished.

The rest of Abe's stay was uneventful, comparatively speaking. Harry worked on finishing his homework or spent time outside. Abe, meanwhile, reclined in what the man knew was Albus' favorite chair and either napped or thumbed through some magazines that he went to great lengths to keep Harry from seeing.

Albus returned on Wednesday afternoon to find Abe in his chair, wearing his slippers no less. Harry had moved a chair next to him, and the two were pouring over a book. Albus cleared his throat to get their attention, causing Harry to snap his head up and point his wand at the intruder while Abe jumped and spilled his drink on himself.

With a laugh, Albus made his way to the sofa and took a seat. Harry greeted his guardian enthusiastically, and the two exchanged pleasantries while Abe quietly listened in. Lifting the book from his lap, Harry explained that he had discovered Abe could speak German, and together they were translating Slytherin's book. It was hard work, because the man had interspersed German, Latin, and English; and he apparently hadn't used proper grammar for any of the languages. As he'd talked, Harry had handed over the book and his parchment, showing him the rough translation they were currently working on, which apparently had to do with werewolves.

When Albus handed the book back, Harry explained, "Just from the little bit we've finished, it sounds like Slytherin wasn't entirely the heartless bastard most people make him out to be."

"Language, Harry," Albus said, glancing at the boy over his glasses, "and I can assure you, Salazar Slytherin has been much maligned in modern times. The portraits in my office tell of a fine man who unfortunately had different ideas regarding Muggles and Muggleborns."

"Yeah, he probably didn't mean to leave a deadly snake in a school full of children ... either way though," Harry continued, excited to share what they'd found, "some of the stuff we've translated is fascinating. Did you know that he believed goblins should be elevated above all other non-humans? I think he thought we should treat better those who hold all the gold. And he really hated Dementors, he calls them worse than cannibals. At least I think that's what he meant … he might have meant carnivores. Anyway, he writes about looking for ways to destroy them." Harry became more animated as he talked, clearly excited about the book. "I wonder if he discovered anything. Can you imagine? What if the secret's in this book? We could rid ourselves of the beasts once and for all."

Albus chuckled at Harry's enthusiasm. "That would indeed be something, and you have my full support in your endeavor to translate the book in your spare time. But surely, you did more while I was gone than just study a musty old tome?"

"Damn straight we did," Abe was quick to reply. He moved forward in his chair, physically bringing himself closer to the conversation. "Boy was going a bit stir crazy, Albus. Needed to be around other bodies. So I took him shopping in Godric's Hollow."

Harry's gasped, "What? That was Godric's Hollow?" was overlapped by Albus' "Godric's Hollow! How could you be so irresponsible. Harry, I though you had more sense."

Harry turned to Albus, "Don't look at me! I didn't even know that's where we were. I thought it was a Muggle village." Turning back he glared at his Uncle with hard eyes. "Were we close?" he demanded to know.

The room was uncomfortably silent, not to mention noticeably colder. Albus was torn between wanting to give his brother the telling off he deserved and offering Harry his support. Peering at his boy, he couldn't get a good read on his emotions, probably because he was too confused to know how he felt himself. He hoped that his brother had at least had the sense to avoid any sensitive areas while in the village.

Across from them, Abe was starting to regret taunting his brother. He hadn't anticipated Harry's response, which he was now realizing should have been obvious. But he had honestly forgotten the boy's own tragic ties to the village. He knew that Albus was still, after all these years, troubled by what had happened in the Dumbledore home in Godric's Hollow – rightly so, he thought – and he had wanted to grab the proverbial splinter and give it a yank.

In his haste to hurt his brother, he had hurt the boy instead. "Nay, Harry," he said with a sigh. "We were on the other side of the village, far removed from the magical community that resides there. I knew you wanted to buy those sweets, and I remembered that shop. I used to go there with a dear friend of mine – may her soul rest in peace – and so that's where I took you. I meant no harm."

Harry looked hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he believed the excuse. Albus, however, knew things Harry did not, such as the fact that Harry's former home was not the only thing the boy might see at Godric's Hollow. In fact, it was probably just dumb luck he hadn't spotted the Potter Memorial while he was at the candy shop. So while he knew that the apology was sincere, he was still not pleased.

He was about to begin his lecture when he noticed Abe's appearance. Where he normally had a hard look to him, today he appeared more untidy than anything. There were bags under his eyes, and his eyelids were drooping, not to mention the many stifled yawns. Harry had probably written it off to lost sleep, for it was a look he often wore himself. But to Albus it told of a tiredness that had nothing to do with sleep. It was the kind of bone-deep weariness that Albus himself had felt once when he'd had to leave a toddler on a front stoop, and again when that same child – now grown and disillusioned – had left his office in shambles.

But Albus' keen eyes also noticed other signs that Harry had missed. The way Abe was holding is wand, for example – cradling it inside a fist instead of controlling it with his fingers. And Abe's lap was still wet from the drink he'd spilled, despite his attempt to clean it up. It should have been easy, a simple charm every First Year knew, but Abe hadn't managed it right. And that was perhaps the most troublesome bit.

Albus felt his anger dissolve. Making a decision, he clapped his hands together and announced that 'since there was no harm, the matter was closed.' Harry was openly confused by the sudden about-face, but Albus immediately steered them to a new subject by asking if Harry had had a chance to enjoy the outdoors today. As Harry answered, Albus rose from his seat and casually moved to look out the patio door, innocently ending up right behind Abe's chair. Then, with a disbelieving Harry watching, he pulled his wand and cast a nonverbal spell, hitting his brother in the back of the head. In a heartbeat, Abe slumped sideways in his chair.

"Relax, Harry," he urged, knowing how it must have looked. "It was only a mild sleeping charm. I think you will agree that he could use the rest?" When Harry nodded dumbly in agreed, he continued, "Than perhaps you would like to join me in the kitchen. I fancy a piece of Dobby's delicious cake, and we can speak without worry of waking Aberforth."

Over plates of chocolate cake and mugs of steaming chocolate, Albus tried to distract Harry by filling him in on his trip. He'd hoped that the forgotten Lestrange relative might hold a clue to the hidden horcrux, but it was not so. Great Aunt Edwina had renounced her family well before the current generation had even been born. Admittedly, it had been a long shot, but Albus felt it was not a wasted trip, for Edwina had been able to give him the locations of two homes that had been used by the family. One he already knew of – it had been seized by the Ministry in 1982 and searched in every possible way imaginable. The other, however, was little-known and secluded, and made for a promising lead.

As excited as Harry was about any news on the Horcrux front, he pointedly turned the conversation to Albus' spell. Granted, it was a harmless spell, but it still didn't sit right with him that Albus would cast _any_ spell behind someone's back for no good reason.

For Albus, that was the crux of the matter. He had, in fact, a very good reason; but Harry didn't know that. And furthermore, Abe didn't want Harry to know. Now, to put it mildly, Albus and his brother shared a prickly relationship, but in this instance he had fully intended to comply with his brother's wishes. That is, until Harry pushed the issue.

Above all else, he would not lie to or purposely mislead his boy. Harry's trust (and love) had been hard won this past year, and he wouldn't jeopardize it for anything or anyone. Weren't they family now, too? How did one weigh the promise to one family member against the promise to another, when the two promises suddenly clashed.

Pushing his plate aside he sat back in his chair, weaving his fingers together as he prepared to speak. And seeing his actions, Harry instantly tensed, knowing that something serious was coming his way.

"Aberforth needed the rest, Harry. He is … _unwell_ … and requires special potions and plenty of rest. In hindsight, I perhaps should not have asked him to stay with you. You see, he does not take care of himself at the best of times, and I suspect he has not been taking his potions for fear that you would see them and ask questions. He does not want you to know of his illness."

Harry's mind was reeling. There was something about the way Albus had said that one word - 'unwell' – that had made his skin crawl. Knowing he wasn't going to like the answer, he nonetheless had to ask, "so what's wrong with him?"

Knowing he was at the point of no return, he looked Harry in the eye and explained, "He suffers from Merlin's Curse, Harry." Seeing the confused look he was getting, Albus continued, "it's a terrible disease with a rather odd name, for it's neither connected to Merlin in any way, nor is it a curse. I suppose the healers believed that something called Merlin's Curse would be taken more seriously than Bartholomew's Disease."

Harry must have realized where this was headed, for he turned his face away from Albus. He focused on his unappetizing cake as he quietly urged, "go on."

"Bartholomew Bumbleton was the first wizard diagnosed with the disease, although it's believed to have been in existence for quite some time before that. Simply put, Merlin's Curse is a chronic disease that will steal first Aberforth's strength, and then his very life."

Harry felt his stomach clench as he heard the news, and he found himself wishing he hadn't questioned Albus' actions. He picked up his fork and mashed the remaining cake on his plate into mush as he listened.

"The main muscle groupings in his body will slowly weaken to the point where they will become useless. It starts small – trouble getting his hands to grasp things … trouble holding his cup steady … stumbling on his own feet."

And Harry was instantly thrown back to his trip to Godric's Hallow. Abe had stumbled many times, but he'd claimed his boot heel was loose. And when they were bowling, he'd cradled his ball in both hands, like a small child would do, instead of using the finger holes. Harry had written it off as Abe being Abe, but now …

"In the second phase," Albus was continuing, "he will continue to weaken … only now it's his arms and legs that are the trouble, that don't seem to want to do as they are told. And at this point, perhaps the worst of all occurs. The stress placed on the body causes one to lose their control and focus with their magic. A spell that before was second nature now takes a great deal of concentration. Complex spells, like the Animagus Transfiguration, stop working all together. It's like regressing through Hogwarts … ending up with the abilities of the greenest First Year."

There was great sadness in his voice as he continued. "I believe we witnessed a sign that he is moving into this phase of the disease when he failed to use a simple drying spell correctly."

"So …," Harry hesitate, now not sure he wanted to ask anything more, "so what happens then? If he's at this second phase … is there a third?"

Albus nodded as he explained, "At some point, he will weaken to where he can no longer rely on his magic; can no longer move his own body. The natural conclusion of the disease is the loss of the ability to work the lungs, leading to suffocation. There are many potions and even a few spells which help alleviate the symptoms and take away the pain, but there is no cure. Magic can do many wonderful things, Harry, but alas, some things are simply in the hands of God."

This couldn't be right. With a shaking voice Harry demanded, "But what about Snape – what about putting a stopper on death?"

Albus understood the boy's pain, he was having trouble himself with the idea that this younger sibling was also going to beat him to death. He sadly shook his head as he explained, "Death can only be 'stoppered', to coin a phrase, when its underlying cause can be healed. In this case, it cannot." He reached across and lightly grasped Harry's arm. "But he is not dying tomorrow, Harry. His healers have told him that with proper diet and plenty of rest he probably has another two to three years."

Harry finally looked up from his plate of chocolaty mud and snorted. "Oh, well, that's good news. Except for the fact that he won't eat anything that grew out of the ground … and he drinks firewhiskey like it was water … and he uses his pub to spy for the Order which has got to be stressful … but otherwise, yeah, he'll be fine."

Leaving the kitchen later on, Harry thought about Albus' parting words – to 'find the silver lining'. Granted, his first reaction was to tell Albus where he could shove his silver lining, which he thankfully refrained from saying. But upon finding the two brothers engaging in a tug-of-war over one of Albus' fluffy bunny slippers, he though he'd found it when he realized that two or three more years with this Uncle was still better than an entire lifetime with his last Uncle.

*** end chapter ***

**Notes:** If you think Merlin's Curse sounds familiar, that's because it's modeled after ALS, what we American's often refer to as Lou Gehrig's Disease. I've often thought that, given their ability to heal injuries that would kill Muggles (or avert them like when Harry fell off the broom), added to their longer lifespan, that there had to be some pretty awful diseases out there. Otherwise, there should be a whole lot more of them, don't you think?


	10. The Singing Sorceress' Swan Song

Here's what I would say if my dog asked who owned Harry Potter: "Who owns Harry Potter? Who does? Does Misty own Harry Potter? Does her? No, her does not. But her is a good doggie."

.

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**Chapter 10. The Singing Sorceress' Swan Song**

With Albus back Abe was anxious to return to his bar, although to Harry is seemed more like he was throwing a tantrum over losing the slipper war. He'd agreed to stay through supper, but as soon as the dishes were cleared, he grabbed his goat and disappeared. _Literally._

And for once Harry was glad to see him go. It had been awful sitting through the meal, pretending not to know that the man that just 'accidentally' dropped mashed potatoes in Albus' drink was dying. But he wasn't supposed to know, and he couldn't allow himself to give the brothers another thing to fight over, so he had laughed and smiled until his face hurt.

He'd spent the rest of the week trying to avoid thinking about Uncle Abe's illness, and so in no time his homework was completed (although he might rework the Transfiguration paper after Minerva arrived – she did love to share her knowledge). He also had a few more passages translated from Slytherin's book, most of them dealing with his thoughts about and interactions with the other founders. So far, the most surprising thing revealed was Slytherin's opinion of Rowena Ravenclaw – brilliant but frigid; not exactly the opinion held by modern times.

He did manage to accomplish something else that week. He fulfilled his promise to Minerva; not that she'd given him any choice. She had shown up during breakfast one morning with a box full of mailing supplies, and Harry had been put to work before the dishes had even been cleared. He was given four letters that had been written by Minerva and a stack of blank parchment, and she taught him a spell that would duplicate the letter onto the parchment, which he then stuffed into an envelope. A second spell would transfer names and addresses from a master list onto the letters and envelopes. He just had to be careful he didn't confuse the Years.

Harry was only handling the letters for First through Fourth Years. Minerva handled the other years, as their supply lists needed to be personalized, and there might be 'extras' to be added later. "I can't thank you enough for volunteering, Harry," she said at one point, which he found odd as he most certainly had not volunteered.

Laughing at the look on his face she continued, "And I'm certain my sister Helena would thank you, too. I usually trick her into handling the early Years' envelopes. It's been a good many years since I've had to do much with those letters."

They talked in relaxed fellowship as they worked, with Minerva sharing stories about letters gone awry. Like the time one of the deliver owls was sick, and it had flown all the way to Milton Fuller of Brighton Beach in New York instead of Milton Fillmor of Brighton in East Sussex. That had taken some serious magical cooperation to straighten out, seeing how Fuller was an American, and a Muggle to boot. Then there was the time one particular student refused to send a reply, eventually requiring over 200 letters to be sent.

"Hey, not my fault," he protested. "Vernon refused to use a _ruddy bird_ to send a letter." Harry grinned as he remembered the letters forcing their way into the house. "But I got it in the end, and Dudley got a pig's tail out of it, so all in all it worked out. I've always wondered, though … about the address on my letter."

Minerva reached over and patted his hand. "Let me tell you a story, Harry, of a young witch receiving her first letter in a most unusual place." Eleven year-old Minerva had been a rather headstrong girl, and on more than one occasion she'd run away from home. She always went to the same place – a sort of cubbyhole underneath the bridge over the gully. She refused to tell Harry how often she did this, but it was often enough that she'd started keeping a blanket and some food in a basket in her little hiding place. Well, she had gone there one evening and fallen asleep, only to wake early the next morning to find a rather annoyed owl shoving its foot – letter attached – into her face.

"The envelope had read 'Miss Minerva McGonagall, In the Cubbyhole, The Bridge Over the Gully'. I used to wonder how the Headmaster of Hogwarts could possibly know that I was sleeping under that bridge," she laughed. "But now I understand. There's no real rhyme or reason to it. For some, the address used is the place they think of as home – one boy's letter was sent to his grandmother's house – but for others, those who don't feel like they truly belong I would guess, the address is for wherever they feel the safest or perhaps wherever they currently are."

They finished the letters before lunch, and Harry was forced to admit – really, she made him say it – that it hadn't been that bad an experience.

The next morning he found himself sitting at the desk in his room, where he had just finished an entry his dream journal. Without his sleeping pills, all his worries were manifesting themselves in his dreams. In some dreams bad things – like Death Eater ambushes and vicious snake attacks – would happen, and he and his friends would be caught in the middle; other times, his dream self would have to watch helplessly as those around him fell to green curses. The dreams weren't very pleasant, but at least they were his own, and he understood them.

He closed the journal with a sigh. Something was going to happen, he could feel it. Hell, he'd seen it; or at least, he'd seen Voldemort and his Death Eaters planning something. As much as he hated those visions, especially when Voldemort was enjoying himself, he almost wished that he could have one now to gain some clue as to what was coming. Maybe he was getting paranoid – _'wouldn't Mad Eye be proud'_ – but he had spent ten minutes just last night lecturing Ginny on the importance of keeping her wand handy at all times, even in bed. As he put it, "damn the bloody restriction" if there was trouble.

She had politely listened to everything he'd said, and dutifully promised to do as he'd asked. He had the feeling she was just placating him, but hoped that she nonetheless took the warnings to heart. After getting the Abe-bomb dropped on him, he really didn't want to even think about losing her.

Not that he was ignoring his other friends. He'd written to Ron, Hermione, Neville, and even Luna, warning them to be prepared for trouble. The nearly identical letters had mirrored his sentiments to Ginny regarding keeping their wands in hand and the Statute Against Underage Magic, including what the Ministry could do with it. Though, perhaps he should have put more thought into them. Ron had let it slide, just thanking him for the warning before shifting into Quidditch news. But Hermione had fired back to let him know she was offended that he thought she needed to be reminded to be on alert, and that he'd obviously forgotten _she_ was already seventeen.

He'd felt better knowing his friends were on alert; he just couldn't shake the feeling that trouble was on the horizon. And then, on Friday morning, he woke up to the sickening feeling of pure, bubbling-over-the-cauldron joy that wasn't his own. He slunk down to breakfast to find a note from Albus. He'd been called to the Ministry for an emergency. It was a short, hastily written message; the man must have been quite frazzled when he'd written it. In fact, it reminded him strongly of the howler Albus had sent to Petunia in how he'd written '_remember my instructions!_' Those of course being their standard rule that when Harry was alone he was to stay inside the cottage, and have Dobby take him to the castle at the first sign of trouble.

There was little room for doubt now. Whatever it was, it had happened.

Harry was sitting at the dining table picking his sausage apart when the paper arrived, and with sinking dread he took a deep breath and opened it. The first thing to catch his eye was a picture of a stately brownstone, quite ordinary and unremarkable in every way except one – the Dark Mark was floating overhead. Beneath the picture the headline screamed:

_**MINISTER KILLED!**_

_Robards, Warbeck among the victims_

_The bodies of Minister Rufus Scrimgeour and Head of the Auror Office Gawain Robards were discovered early this morning by Ministry Aurors when the Minister's Personal Security Auror failed to check in. Aurors immediately went to investigate the home of Robards, where the Minister and his mistress were attending a dinner party, and made the grizzly discovery._

_The Dark Mark was found floating over the house and the front door was wide open. Eight bodies were discovered inside, including the Minister's and Robards. Also dead at the scene were AnnLouise Raleigh, the Minister's longtime companion; Boneva Robards, Gawain's wife; famed songstress Celestina Warbeck, two unnamed Aurors, and an unidentified wizard. There were no known survivors of the attack, although a complete guest list was not immediately available._

_Preliminary investigations reveal that Minister Scrimgeour was tortured before he was killed. Cause of death was not speculated, but it was not believed to have been the Killing Curse. The most gruesome, however, was Gawain Robards, who was beheaded. The others are believed to have been victims of the Killing Curse. According to an anonymous source at St. Mungo's, where the bodies were taken, several showed signs of recent duels, indicating that they tried to fight the attack. Damage to the walls and furniture at the house appear to confirm this theory._

_Scrimgeour and Robards have been aggressive in their stance against HWMNBN and his followers, so their deaths are perhaps not that surprising. Scrimgeour has recently been working directly with Chosen One Harry Potter, an outspoken opponent of You-Know-Who. Unbelievable to this reporter is the killing of singing sensation Celestina Warbeck. A known pacifist who would often end her interviews with the phrase 'make love, not war', Warbeck's death is beyond senseless._

_The Wizengamot convened early this morning and appointed Pius Thicknesse, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as temporary acting Minister. They have announced that they will accept formal petitions for Appointment to Minister on Monday, July 14, from 10am until 2pm. Closed-door arguments will begin at Noon that Wednesday, and the doors will not open until the new Minister has been appointed. All Petitioners are required to be present for the arguments._

_In a startling move, the Wizengamot then went back into session to debate several new security measures, including Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore's motion that all Ministry Employees be checked immediately for the Dark Mark. This is not the first time Dumbledore has made such a motion, but previously it has always been denied. Ex-minister Fudge and one-time Hogwart's Governor and exposed Death Eater Lucius Malfoy were often his most vocal opponents. (story continues on page 2)_

_The Loss of an Enchantress, page 2  
Is it time for martial law?, page 3  
List of assassinations since You-Know-Who's return, page 3__  
Reaction by the Widow Scrimgeour, page 4_

Harry crunched the paper in his fists, not wanting to believe what he had read. Voldemort had killed the Minister! That could only mean one thing – he was trying to seize control of the Ministry. And if he succeeded, bad things would happen. His young mind was hard pressed to come up with details, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that getting rid of Muggleborns would be high on his to-do list. It was, Harry supposed, a good thing Voldemort had already eliminated Dolores Umbridge. The thought of the two of them working together sent chills up his spine.

Harry was still sitting at the table, his uneaten breakfast long forgotten, when he heard the front door open. Diving under the table, he pulled his wand and crouched low, ready to fight. Through a gap in the table cloth he was able to see the vibrant green robes that could only belong to his guardian enter the room, and he sheepishly left his hiding place.

Albus chuckled as he watched; and when the boy was standing straight he applauded. "Constant Vigilance ... Alastor would have been so proud."

With a cheeky response muttered under his breath, Harry put his wand away and retook his seat. Within minutes, his embarrassment was forgotten as he pumped Albus for additional information, which was unfortunately in short supply. For once, the Daily Prophet seemed to have covered all the relevant facts with little embellishment.

Not wanting his boy to spend the afternoon worrying, Albus distracted him with an offer he couldn't refuse – another training session. The two made their way to Albus' favorite cavern, and once inside, they went through the exercises they had practiced the last time, with one noticeable addition. Albus began sending Stunning Spells at Harry, who was expected to avoid being hit by any means available _except_ a Shield Charm. They again ended their day with Harry using objects to block Killing Curses being sent at a statue, which this time bore an uncanny resemblance to Professor McGonagall. In the end, Harry was proud to say that Statue Minerva survived mostly unblemished.

They arrived back at the cottage dirty and sweaty, and in Harry's case, feeling energized. Where these exercises had left him in a bit of a mental funk the last time, this time they uplifted him. He was consistently recognizing the incantation before Albus had time to complete it, and he was able to fully block the curse more often than not. With a bit more practice, he felt confident that he could protect his loved ones should the need arise.

Harry stayed reasonable upbeat the rest of the weekend. But on Monday his nerves started to frazzle as he waiting for the evening's Order meeting. Well before he needed to, Harry had changed into plain blue robes and was seated in their family room, doing nothing in particular. Albus eventually joined him in the room and the two waited for the appointed time to leave for Headquarters – Harry by watching the clock and Albus by reading a novel. Finally Albus couldn't ignore Harry's nervous fidgeting any longer, and with a sigh he closed his book and suggested they head out early. Harry was at the door before Albus was even out of his chair, but at least he had the grace to apologize for his restlessness.

They entered the front door of the gloomy old house to silence, but their noses picked up the evidence that others were already in attendance. Following the delicious smells, Harry found Molly Weasley heating up a pot of beef stew on the oven. Fresh bread, pitchers of cold cider, and home-made pumpkin pies and tarts were already on the table. Molly looked up from her task to welcome the newcomers, and Harry stepped over and gave her a quick hug before moving to his usual seat at the table, which placed him directly across from Remus and Tonks. The latter, not wanting to be outdone, leaned across the table to give Harry a bone-crushing hug, knocking over the pitcher of juice as she retreated back to her side.

While she gushed her apologies, Remus pulled his wand and restored order to the table. A few minutes later the three were joined by Bill and Fred – _'er, George … no, definitely Fred'_ – and Molly started serving the food as she explained that Ron and Ginny were staying at the Burrow with Fred – _'blast it!'_ – and Fleur. By this time, Albus had taken a seat as well, and he congratulated Molly on another excellent meal, earning similar comments from the others.

By the time the pies were being served the meeting was due to start, as evidenced by the growing number of bodies in the room. Arthur Weasley had arrived, and he was leaning against the counter next to his wife, both talking with Minerva. Kingsley Shacklebolt had arrived with Edgar Lacer, the Unspeakable Harry had met at the beginning of the summer. He also recognized Dedalus Diggle, the odd little man he'd seen once as a child, and Hestia Jones, who he remembered from his Advance Guard. Dung was lurking near the fireplace, trying his best to look nonchalant as he inspected the tarnished old trophy on the mantle. Snape was practically hidden in the shadows near the door, no doubt purposely so.

Rounding out the group were two people Harry didn't know, although one of them was definitely familiar. Uncle Abe hadn't made it, but Harry tried not to read to much into this since the old fart rarely came to these meetings, preferring to send any information he had directly to his brother. Other than Diggle, who he was sure had just bowed to him, and Snape, who he was convinced missed nothing, he didn't think he'd been noticed yet. But then, he didn't think most even knew of his membership.

Taking a quick head count, Harry was surprised that the room would hold this many people, but he supposed that the room could expand when needed. The old pureblood families considered their house to be a physical representation of their House, after all, and it would have been in extremely poor taste if they didn't have room for all their guests.

Without any noticeable call to order, the group quieted so Albus could begin. Thankfully, he jumped right into business, and so those that had not already known of Harry's inclusion were not given the chance to voice any objections on the matter. He had asked the group to find out what they could about the four individuals that the Wizengamot were considering for Minister, and he was not disappointed. Arthur, Edgar (or Eddie, as he asked to be called) and Kingsley gave detailed information about their careers, and as each person was discussed other Order members volunteered their information.

The first person discussed was the acting Minister himself, Pius Thicknesse. Harry remembered him all to well from his 'interrogation' at the Ministry just two weeks ago. In Harry's opinion, the man's arrogance battled with his stupidity for top billing. He quietly listened as first Eddie and then Kingsley both pointed out that as recent as a few months ago Thicknesse might have been labeled overconfident, but he wasn't what one would call a 'climber'. His appointment as Head of his department had been a shock to most, as he had normally tended to fade into the background, content to do his job and go home.

Something had caused that to change, and Snape snorted at the obvious. "Do you all have pudding for brains? The man's new best friend is Hades Yaxley. Surely even Potter can draw the proper conclusion." His eyes swept the room, giving those present the opportunity to speak. Harry rather thought he knew what came next, but he'd had six years' experience telling him to keep his mouth shut.

Having intimidated the entire room (Albus of course excluded) Snape continued, "Thicknesse is in the Dark Lord's control, either as a direct supporter or more likely under the Imperius Curse. Appointing him Minster is equivalent to handing control to the Dark Lord himself."

Although many around the room nodded their agreement, a few felt that was too big of an accusation to make unfounded. Only, in Harry's opinion, it wasn't unfounded, and he said as much. "I agree with the Professor," he began, catching the ears of all in the room. "When I met with the man, he tried awfully hard to get rid of Tonks and Mister-Arthur. He definitely wanted me alone and outnumbered. He was particularly upset when Albus joined us. And did any of you notice the time or two he seemed to look to that Auror – not Dawlish, the other one – for guidance." He paused as Arthur and Tonks agreed. "Yeah, every time something didn't go according to his plan, it was like he wasn't sure what to do next."

Albus allowed a few more minutes of 'healthy debate' before he cast his vote, so to speak, by agreeing that one way or another, Thicknesse was Voldemort's man. What needed to be determined now was if any of the others were under Voldemort's thumb.

Arthur Weasley spoke up next, telling what he knew about Dirk Cresswell, the second candidate. Cresswell was a Muggle-born who, like Hermione, had stood out among his fellow classmates. He'd been particularly good at Charms, Arthur had heard, but his best subject had been History of Magic. In fact, he'd been the only person in his year to continue on for the History N.E.W.T. Perhaps it hadn't been a surprise when he'd gone on to work in the Goblin Liaison Office. In only six short years, he'd been named Head of the department, no doubt due to his unusually good (good being a relative term) relations with the goblins.

However, it was agreed by all that knew him that he lacked the visibility to be a real contender for the post. In other words, he would be acceptable if he was chosen, but he was a long shot.

Next to be discussed was Wenlow Wentlock, who Harry discovered was the dumpy wizard that had vocally sided with Fudge at his hearing for underage magic. Obviously, Harry was immediately against the man. In truth, not much good was being said by anyone. Kingsley in particular was concerned with the man's voting record – a thorough researching had revealed that he voted with former Minister Fudge every time. While no connection to Voldemort or his key Death Eaters could be found, he was definitely lacking in the 'fair judgment' category. No one felt comfortable with the idea of him being appointed.

More damning than that, at least in Harry's opinion, was the office gossip that he and a certain pink-infested Under Secretary had had a torrid love affair during her tenure in Fudge's office.

The last person to be discussed was Gemini Bluestreak, the current head of Department of International Magical Cooperation. Harry noticed that where Albus seemed only mildly curious about the other two, he was definitely paying attention now. Oh, the casual observer would never notice the difference, but Harry saw how he was sitting just a bit straighter in his chair and how he had adjusted his glasses.

Gemini Bluestreak, it turned out, was a very boring and very proper man. He was faithfully married to his Hogwart's sweetheart, a devoted father to his three grown children (one of whom was an Auror), and a beloved grandfather to no less than eight munchkins, two of which currently attended Hogwarts. He was a member in good standing of the Gobstones Association of Scotland (or GAS, as it was called). He'd even spent six months as a substitute professor at Hogwarts while the Astrology professor took a personal leave.

At the Ministry, he was as well respected as he was well-known. He treated his subordinates fairly and his equals respectfully; and was a soft-spoken but stubborn adversary to most of Dolores Umbridge's proposed laws. Most telling, he was himself a pure-blood who abhorred the so-called pure-blood rhetoric. Married to a Muggle-born himself, he was ideologically opposed to Voldemort.

In fact, the only blemish on the man's record was that fact that one granddaughter had chosen to attend Beauxbatons. Laughing at that conclusion, Albus thanked those assembled for both their time and their knowledge before politely dismissing them. Most left quickly – it was a work night after all – until only what Harry would call the inner circle were remaining. At least, he would if that particular phrase didn't instantly make him think of Voldemort.

Those who stayed were Arthur Weasley, Remus (and by extension Tonks), Kingsley and Snape; Minerva would have stayed but for a prior commitment. To this much smaller group, Albus made his intentions clear. He wanted Bluestreak as the new Minister. The fact that he was personally known to Albus made him easy to accept as the right choice. But for Harry, it was the little-known fact that, like himself, Bluestreak was quite proficient in throwing off the Imperius Curse that had tipped the scale.

Now that the debate was over, Albus outlined his plan. Harry's surprise at finding out he was at the center of the plan was only rivaled by Snape's, but Albus reminded everyone that Harry had acted spectacularly in first discovering and then thwarting Draco Malfoy's plan at school – not to mention his _other_ assignment. That caught Snape's attention, but apparently no one else questioned the comment, and Snape certainly wouldn't. With a smile Albus announced their business finished.

As the others made their way to the front door, Albus motioned for two wizards – Harry and Snape – to follow him to the parlor because, as he put it, "the chairs are softer on the bum". Albus chose the stately wingback chair, which Harry didn't think looked soft at all, but which directly faced the sofa. Without thought, Harry took a seat at the near end of the sofa so he would be in front of Albus for the conversation. Snape, however, was clearly torn. He obviously didn't want to sit next to Harry, but it was also obvious that that was Albus' intention. With a grumpy sigh, he moved to the far end and perched regally on the cushion – showing the other two his disdain for sitting on anything that had once been used by Sirius Black. _'Just think how he'd react if he knew what Ginny and I have done on this couch!'_

With a smile and a nod of understanding – which Harry hoped was directed at Snape and not himself – Albus asked Snape what he'd discovered about Nagini's fate. Not acknowledging Harry in any way, Snape looked directly at Albus and said, "It is as you suspected, Albus. Nagini was harmed in some manner, and although she lingered for a few months, the wounds proved to be fatal."

Harry of course already knew this part, but didn't want to start any arguments and so he merely nodded in agreement. For his part, Severus noticed the nod, and chalked it up as another sign that Potter spent much more time with the Headmaster than was normal (even for the Golden Boy) if the old man's mannerisms were rubbing off on the boy. Albus had also nodded his head, and Severus continued. "Luckily Wormtail is as weak minded as he is spineless. It was absurdly easy to enter his mind," and his eyes shifted briefly to Harry and back again, "and find the correct memory. In early June, shortly after the failed invasion of Hogwarts, Wormtail was once again asked to help the Dark Lord perform a ritual. You would think the pathetic little rat would have learned his lesson; but then, one can't exactly say no to such a request. Unfortunately, his memories of the ritual itself are sketchy at best. If I had to guess I would say he was under the influence of a mood-altering potion. Most likely to make him a willing participant, but it also blurred the memory to the point where much is indistinguishable."

Harry wasn't surprised that Voldemort had resorted to drugging Wormtail. After having to cut off his own hand, the little rodent wouldn't have been jumping for joy at the prospect of helping again. _'At least that bastard had a choice!'_ Beside him, he could hear Albus and Snape discussing the hazy memory, or rather, how unlikely it would be to clear the image. Harry felt they were missing the point. "But what happened to the snake," he blurted out, earning himself a harsh glare from Severus.

"As I was about to explain, _Potter_, the snake was used in the ritual. The Dark Lord had prepared a potion which Wormtail fed to Nagini. It appeared to put her to sleep; if it had any other affect, I cannot say. Wormtail then cast a spell on the snake, which caused her to glow in a sickly green light, similar to the flash of the Killing Curse. With his wand still pointed at the snake, he said what sounded like 'Deglow Nagini Sool, Deglow Sool Relic'. A dark mist seemed to follow the flick of the wand, moving from the snake to the object, which was completely surrounded by the mist for a second or two, before it seemed to absorb it. When the ritual was complete, the Dark Lord pulled his own wand and incinerated the snake."

Snape described the object involved as best he could. It very much sounded like a plaque or crest, and Albus wondered aloud that if he went to Hogwarts and looked, would he find Tom Riddle's award for services to the school missing. He asked about the fate of the object, but Wormtail's memory had ended at Nagini's cremation – he'd most likely fallen asleep (another side effect of the mood altering potion) – and so he hadn't seen what Voldemort had done with the new Horcrux.

Severus of course didn't understand the significance of the ritual or the object, but the experienced spy could tell that Potter did. Oh yes, Potter was definitely knee deep in this. Remembering his personal revelation from last spring, Severus sat quietly as he listened to Potter and Albus discuss where the assumed award might now be, and how 'it changed things' – although what those things were, he hadn't a clue. When had Potter become Dumbledore's confidant? Oh right … when it had become obvious that the little runt was going to be the one to defeat Riddle.

Before taking his leave, Severus filled Albus in on a few minor details he'd managed to pick up. The most interesting by far was the growing rift between Bellatrix Lestrange and her brother-in-law Rabastan. To Snape's annoyance, Harry kept interrupting with questions. "Are the rest of the Death Eaters taking sides," he'd asked, to which Severus replied "most definitely." Another time he questioned Rabastan's sanity – "is he as crazy as his sister-in-law?" The answer to that was, "nobody is as insane as Bellatrix Lestrange."

To Snape's astonishment, which he hid well from his audience, the questions were actually reasonable, and the boy had even concluded that Bella was rapidly becoming a liability to the Voldemort all by himself. Apparently, he could do the work for himself if Granger wasn't sitting beside him. Standing to leave, Snape bid goodnight to Albus, before turning to Harry and commenting, "I find myself surprised, Potter. Apparently you are not a _complete_ waste of oxygen."

Harry looked confused for a moment, but before he could say anything, Severus added, "but then, the same could be said for most members of Hufflepuff."

Over his shock, Harry grinned as he asked, "Just most of them, Professor? What about Ernie Macmillian?"

With a smirk, Snape replied, "Now _he_ is a complete waste of oxygen."

Pressing his luck, Harry continued, "What about Zacharias Smith?"

"Complete and utter waste."

Oddly enjoying the banter, Harry asked, "hmm, what about past Hufflepuffs … say, Cornelius Fudge?"

Snape's smirk turned into an actual grin, "A waste of the time it takes to even think about him."

Harry had to laugh at that response. "Alright, now that I understand your standards, I accept the compliment."

Snape opened his mouth to retort, but catching sight of Albus (whose shoulders were shaking with concealed laughter) he thought better of it and he settled for scowling. Without another word he turned sharply on his heal and stormed from the room in what would have been a dramatic exit, had his billowing robes not caught in the closing door.

Harry nearly fell from his seat, he was laughing so hard.

-0-0-0-

At promptly 9:00 AM the next morning, a nervous Harry Potter stumbled from the floo into the Leaky Cauldron. Albus had worked with him for hours to prepare him for his task, but he wasn't certain he could pull it off.

Waiting for him near the fireplace was Arthur Weasley, who reflexively reached out to catch the tumbling boy. Harry thanked him and grinned, "I only have trouble with that when I'm around Weasleys."

"Probably has more to do with that untied shoelace than present company, I should think," pointed out Mister Weasley, who chuckled as the embarrassed young man bent down to tie his shoe. Behind his dad, Ron was openly laughing.

Shoelaces firmly tied, the trio left the pub though its front door to walk to the Ministry's Visitor's Entrance. They passed the time talking about the family, particularly about how Molly was keeping Ginny busy this morning so she wouldn't try to come along. Harry assured the other two that he would make it up to her – and Ron immediately made Harry swear he wouldn't share any details.

When they reached the broken-down phone booth, they entered and Arthur swiftly announced their cover story, not giving Harry a chance to say anything. Ron was taking his Apparition test today (that part was real, even if it had been pushed forward to accommodate today's trip); Harry was coming along to get information on lessons he secretly had no need for.

At the security stand next to the golden gates, Arthur loudly told the guard checking wands that they wouldn't be long; he expected them to be back through in about an hour.

Ron easily passed the test this time, and left the office a proud licensee. Walking beside him, an Approved Apparition Lessons pamphlet in hand, Harry was offering his congratulations as they re-entered the Atrium Level. All three tried to appear nonchalant as they went back through the gates, but Harry knew what was coming. After all, the Daily Prophet had run articles about the four candidates (of course giving glowing recommendations to Thicknesse). If anyone had taken the bait this morning, there would be a reporter waiting in the lobby to get The Chosen One's opinion on the Ministerial Candidates.

Glancing around, Harry spotted Rita Skeeter in the distance, her photographer nearby. With a grimace, he turned his head – appearing to be speaking to Ron – when he spotted a second reporter. He didn't recognize the man, but he was easily identified given the parchment and quill in his hands, not to mention the photographer following him. He was a tall, thin man, perhaps Arthur's age. His thick brown hair was cut just long enough to look wavy, without the curly look Lockhart had favored, and was sprinkled with grey. He was wearing traditional robes, much like Albus always worn, though in a tasteful shade of burgundy with nothing twinkling or wiggling in sight. Making his choice, Harry stopped walking and angled his body toward the man, leaving the approaching Rita with nothing but a view of his backside.

But it wasn't the reporter that reached the group first. Arthur had been momentarily distracted by a co-worker's question when it happened. A man in plain black robes, the hood pulled over to hide his face, rushed from a spot near the wall. Ron was unfortunate enough to be standing between the man and his destination – Harry – and he was ruthlessly knocked to the side. Not expecting the shove, he tumbled over, a distinct crack sounding as his head hit the ground. Harry could only look down at his fallen friend, for the stranger was already between them, frantic to get his attention.

The man was barely an arm's length away now. "Here Harry, you need to take this," he urged as he thrust a book toward the boy.

Harry began to reflexively reach for the book – his hand was only inches away from it – when someone grabbed his wrist and yanked it up before using it to push him further away from the stranger.

"_No Harry_ … it could be a Portkey."

****end chapter****

**Notes: **The Wizengamot is a bit of a mystery to me. Surely it's more than just a glorified jury. So I've made up my own thing – making the Wizengamot a sort of legislative/judicial combination.

Bonus Points to anyone that knew the origin of the name Gemini Bluestreak. (It's an American reference, and not important to the story, but if you didn't get it and now you're curious, google 'gemini and bluestreak'.)

About the ritual: Snape didn't accurately hear the incantation, so it's not worth explaining here. Suffice to say, the actual wording was very similar to the spell Harry used when he attempted to create a Horcrux.

Slytherin's opinion of Ravenclaw as frigid – careful reading of his journal would reveal that she turned him down. Repeatedly. What can I say ... I see him as a man with issues.


	11. Weatherby Weturns

Well, this really shouldn't surprise anyone … I don't own the Harry Potter characters. Phew, that's a load of my chest.

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**Chapter 11. Weatherby Weturns**

For a half-second, Harry panicked as he felt someone grab his wrist and wrench his arm. But just before he fought the grasp, the voice – warning the book could be a Portkey, his brain supplied – registered as being Arthur's.

The approaching stranger quickly realized he needed to change tactics, and he threw the book at Harry, perhaps thinking the boy would try to use his hand to deflect it. Instead, Harry turned his body so the book bounced off his back and fell harmlessly to the floor. The move made his arm twist funny – Arthur was still holding his wrist after all – and he jerked it away so he could grab his wand.

Harry's sudden moves caused Arthur to lose his balance and stumble away as he fought to stay standing. It had happened in less than a second, but it was long enough. Arthur's attention had been diverted away from the stranger, who was already holding his wand. Even as Harry was reaching into his pocket for his own wand, Arthur's was wrenched away, leaving the patriarch defenseless.

To Harry, the next seconds lasted hours … he had his wand in his hand, he was pulling it up and spinning back around to face the attacker … who was shouting the unmistakable 'avah-' sound that began the Killing Curse.

Instead of freezing in terror, as he'd done in this same place to those same words once before, he sprang into action. He scanned the area for anything he could use to block the spell. His eyes landed on the book, but as it was most likely a Portkey, he was hesitant to use it. Instead he silently prayed that this didn't hurt the man, and turned his wand on Arthur, shouting "_Expelliarmus!_" as he did so. The spell had the effect he remembered from the Dueling Club, and even though Arthur wasn't holding a wand, his body was flung away from Harry and therefore out of the path of the green light.

Harry didn't see Arthur's fate. He'd already turned his attention and his wand to the Death Eater. He wasn't fast enough.

Another voice, from the direction of the gate, was shouting "_Petrificus Totalus_", and Harry jumped backward, certain he was being attacked. Across from him, the Death Eater made a similar move and the curse narrowly missed him, hitting an unprepared bystander. Not deterred, the Death Eater threw a curse in the general direction of the voice as he dropped to the ground.

His spell sizzled out as it hit a wall, not that he cared. He was already taking aim at Harry, but the young man hadn't been standing idle. Just as the attacker started another curse Harry's second Disarming Spell hit its target, and the Death Eater's wand flew into the crowd.

But the Death Eater had two advantages. First, being on the ground made him a hard-to-find target, meaning the unknown Samaritan by the gate was out of helping range. And second, he didn't really need his wand for what he was trying to do. With a lunge, he snatched up the book in what Harry could now see was a gloved hand, and with his other hand he grabbed Harry's ankle, toppling the boy as he jerked him closer.

Harry hadn't been expecting the physical attack. His body slammed into the hard marble floor, only luck keeping him from cracking his head as Ron had done. But luck runs both good and bad – his funny bone smacked the ground, causing his hand to spasm and his wand to fall free and roll away. Harry didn't have a chance to go after it though; the attacker was pulling Harry to him. He saw the man holding the book tightly as he fought to bring Harry closer, and Harry knew that when he was close enough, the man planned to touch the book to his skin, sending him on a one-way trip to Voldietown.

Fear and anger spurred Harry back to action, and he kicked out with his free leg while trying to pull his trapped leg free. But the Death Eater held the advantage, and Harry's efforts had little result as he slowly lost ground on the slippery floor, inching closer and closer to the Portkey. In fact, in his attempts to kick the attacker's head, his robes and trousers had ridden down, exposing part of the calf on his free leg. As soon as he'd noticed, Harry dropped his leg, hoping his trousers would fall back into place and protect his skin. Had the man been paying attention, he could have easily touched the book to Harry's bare flesh, but he'd been so focused on the leg he had imprisoned that he'd missed his opportunity.

Two things were abundantly clear to Harry: he couldn't risk exposing his own skin, and the book was the immediate threat. A change in tactics was in order. Instead of aiming his kicks at the attacker's head – which gave gravity its chance to attack his trousers again – he aimed for the book itself. A hard enough kick should send the book flying backward. With all the force he could muster, he shoved the heel of his foot out, making contact with the hand holding the book. His aim was dead on, and as the attacker grunted from pain, the cursed book sailed away from the two struggling bodies, landing with a dull thud out of Harry's line of sight.

Now that the immediate threat was neutralized, Harry was able to turn back and grab for his wand, which rolled into his outstretched hand. Adrenalin pumping, he sat up to go on the offensive when suddenly the Death Eater's grip on his ankle went slack. Shocked, Harry looked up and saw the determined face of Percy Weasley standing over them, his wand still pointed at his father's would-be killer. Beyond him, Harry could see Arthur was bent over the knocked-out Ron.

Harry mumbled a quick thank-you to Percy, having trouble believing the identity of his savior. He was reaching to accept Percy's help up when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the unthinkable. Someone from the crowd – a woman, judging by the long curly hair that was visible – had bent down as if to pick up the innocent looking book. Harry yelled "stop", but it was already too late. Her hand came in contact with the book, and in a heartbeat she was gone. In a wave of sympathy, Harry knew it was unlikely she would ever be seen or heard from again. He was distantly aware that someone had started wailing _"no…no…no"_ in the background, the woman's friend or family no doubt, but he ignored the calls. He needed to check his own family just now.

He made his way over to the others, Percy falling in beside him. By now Ron had been roused, and he was standing on wobbly legs next to his father. Percy was saying something, but Harry was doing an excellent job of tuning him out as he gave Arthur a quick once-over. To his immense relief, he hadn't harmed the man.

It was an insistent tapping on his shoulder that brought him out of his musings. A solidly-built man dressed in Auror's robes was standing next to him, obviously trying to get his attention. Glancing around, Harry found that Aurors had swarmed the area. One of them had placed a ring of fire around his little group, keeping the horde of onlookers away, while another was dealing with their assailant.

The Auror at Harry's side, who couldn't have been more than a dozen years older than Harry himself, was openly gaping at him with a look of adoration that made Harry want to vomit. Luckily, the man was being called away by a familiar voice.

"Christie, why don't you help Proudfoot take the prisoner to interrogation," Tonks said, and it was clear to both Harry and the Auror that, despite her phrasing, this wasn't a question. "Go on, you. I'll hand this lot." When the man had moved away, she leaned close to Harry and explained, "You've got to forgive him. He finished Auror training one point above failing, so they sent him to the Yard. Made him Magical Liaison – he was supposed to help uncover when magic was involved in Muggle crimes. He transferred back to us three days ago. I guess in times like these, they need every body they can get." With a wink she added, "I figured I'd better send him on his way before he asked for an autograph."

Looking over her shoulder, she told the nearest Auror she would escort Harry's group to the first aid station to be checked over, casually adding that she might as well get their statements while they waited. Harry wasn't sure if Tonks actually had the authority to make such a decision, but the no one seemed to object. But then, chaos reigned in the lobby and the Aurors needed to manage the crowd before a riot broke out, so they were probably just relieved to have one less hassle.

Tonks took the lead, with Harry and Arthur supporting Ron between them. Percy brought up the rear, walking a few steps back, as if he wasn't sure he should be there but he didn't want to stay behind. The trip to the infirmary was refreshingly uneventful. Tonks must have had on her most intimidating face, Harry reasoned, because no one they passed dared to try to speak to any of them. So other than Arthur's quiet words of comfort to his son, they walked in silence.

Once they'd arrived, Arthur stayed with Ron while he was looked over by the Ministry Nurse. Harry and Percy seated themselves in the rickety wooden chairs in the waiting area, where Tonks took down their accounts of the attack. Percy reluctantly admitted that he hadn't been in the lobby by chance; he'd heard Ron had passed his test and he wanted to congratulate him. This surprised Harry, for until this very moment he had been under the impression that Percy was still being a git and refusing to acknowledge he even had a family.

When she was done, Tonks had each of them sign her parchment. Arthur and Ron, having finished with the Nurse and seeing they were finished, walked over and let them know that Ron had been deemed good as new.

"Well, at least as close to good as he could get," Harry pointed out.

"Good one, Harry," Tonks agreed, openly laughing. Ron tried his best to look offended by the comment; Arthur chose that moment to turn his attention to a nearby potted plant. Percy was looking around the group frowning, but he didn't comment.

Tonks, perhaps sensing the family's need for privacy, quickly made her excuses and left.

Now that it was just the four of them, Harry dropped back into his chair and picked up a decidedly uninteresting magazine, giving the three Weasleys as much privacy as he could in the small, cluttered room. There was an awkward air to the room; Percy clearly wasn't comfortable speaking with the other two. For his part, Arthur was doing his best to be politely patient and let Percy make the first overture, but his desire to grab his prodigal son into a manly hug was evident on his face. Eventually, Percy cleared his throat and offered his congratulations to his brother.

Ron surprised Harry, who had expected his friend to rebuff 'the pompous arse', as Ron often referred to Percy. But instead, he had accepted the accolades and responded by asking how work was going. His demeanor reminded Harry of how the Upper-Year Gryffindors spoke to the Lower-Years – the ones you didn't really know, but you were nice to anyway just because they were in your House.

Unfortunately, for all his apparent concern, Percy was wasting his opportunity to make amends, and all too soon the small talk had run dry and a heavy silence filled the waiting room. Being to feel uncomfortable, Harry put everyone out of their misery by commenting that they should get going. He stood and said a brief goodbye to Percy, thanking him again for the help. He had moved to the door, Ron and Arthur following, when Percy finally broke.

Stepping in front of his father, he asked, "How has Mother been? … I heard she was feeling under the weather a few months ago."

Arthur smiled as he replied, "She's just fine, Percy. She just had a touch of food poisoning. Swears it's the last time she's eating anything Aunt Muriel bakes. However did you hear about that?"

"Oh, well," he stuttered out, looking uncomfortable to admit, "I was shopping in … Diagon Alley … when I happened to overhear the twins talking. I couldn't help but listen to them."

Ron openly laughed at that, "You … prim and proper Percy …were shopping at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? What, feeling nostalgic for a ton-tongue toffee?"

Arthur turned his attention to his youngest son, "Hush Ronald," he said in gentle rebuke, "your brother is perfectly within his rights to, ah, overhear the twins talking." Turning back to Percy, he smoothly continued, "You know son ... we still have dinner at 6:00, and your Mother still cooks enough to feed an army. Why don't you drop by tonight, and you can see for yourself that she is fine? It's probably been a while since you've had a real home-cooked meal ... I think she's even making rhubarb crumble for pudding."

"That always was my favorite." Percy replied with a distant look in his eyes. He appeared to be fighting an internal battle before finally saying, "I … yes, I would like to come for dinner."

"Wonderful. Simply wonderful. Well … we had best let you get back to your work. I know how the Minister's staff depends on you." Reaching out, he gently patted Percy's arm as he added, "We'll see you tonight son."

Percy nodded once before shuffling past everyone to head down the hall. He glanced back a few times, as if to confirm that the conversation had really taken place, and each time he looked back, his father smiled and nodded.

When Percy had turned the corner, Arthur turned to the others and reminded them they should also be going. He was wearing the biggest grin Harry had ever seen. As they walked down the hall, Arthur leaned toward his son, "Do me a favor, Ron, and tell your Mother I'd really like a rhubarb crumble tonight, would you? But don't tell her why. I don't want to get her hopes up, in case he changes his mind."

When they reappeared in the lobby, now cleared of any sign of the earlier trouble, Harry scanned the area and instantly spotted the tall man dressed in burgundy robes he'd chosen earlier. To telegraph his intent, he slowed to a snail's pace and made eye contact. The reporter read the invitation for what it was, and gracefully wound his way through the crowd to come up to Harry's side.

"Quark Quilty, Mister Potter," he stated, holding out his hand. "So honored to finally meet you. I freelance for the Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless Network, among others. Mind if I ask you a few questions?" He spoke quickly, as if reciting a speech he'd given many times.

Harry stopped walking and accepted his hand, silently praying that he played his part well. He smiled shyly and addressed the man, "I don't actually have the time for an interview, Mister Quilty. My friend and I have some celebrating to do – he just earned his Apparition License you see, and that little incident earlier has put us rather behind schedule. But maybe I can answer a quick question or two."

"Oh, well, congratulations Mister … Weasley, is it?" Quilty didn't really seem to listen to Ron's reply, beyond seeing him nodding in agreement. Instead, he was busy conjuring a plain wooden lectern, upon which he placed his parchment. Harry was pleased to note that the only thing special about his quill was that it was self-inking. Seeing Harry's gaze, he chuckled as he explained that real journalists take real notes. "Two questions only, huh? I better make them good, now hadn't I? First off, who do you like for Minister?"

Harry couldn't help but smile; this was going exactly how Albus had predicted. "You would start with a hard one, wouldn't you? Well … let me start by saying that I think several of the nominees are more than capable. Wentlock seems to know a great deal about our laws … but I do wonder if he spent too much time agreeing with Fudge to be able to make a decision for himself."

Harry cracked a smile at Quilty's smirk. Seeing him finish writing, Harry continued. "From what I hear, Dirk Cresswell is the best Head of the Goblin Liaison Office we've ever had. I've tried to make sense of the history between wizards and goblins, and frankly I have a tough time of it. So anyone that can really span the rift between us must be nothing short of brilliant. While I find him to be an honest man, and I think he could make a decent Minister, I think he has already found his true calling, and that it would be a shame for him to leave that spot to someone less qualified."

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, and to let Quilty catch up in his notes. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Skeeter trying to get his attention, but he pointedly ignored her presence as he continued, "My money's on Bluestreak. He's got a proven track record of being honest and fair. And that's fair to all, from the most talented wizards and witches to the lowliest squib. He treats his subordinates with the same respect he shows his equals. My friend Dobby – he's a house-elf – tells me that's a rare and special quality in a wizard." He stopped for a second as his eyes glanced at an amused Ron. "Bluestreak's well respected by his co-workers. He's been a substitute Professor at Hogwarts, so you know he's smart. Beyond that, he doesn't buy into the elitist rhetoric that Voldemort and his kind promote. As a wise woman once said, blood doesn't make the wizard, magic does."

Quilty glanced up at Harry as he continued to write. "Who said that?"

"Rowena Ravenclaw, but surely that wasn't what you wanted to ask."_ - 'thank-you Hogwarts: A History!'_

Knowing he was being teased, he grinned as he responded, "Actually, I noticed you didn't mention Acting Minister Thicknesse. Care to say why?"

"I'd love to tell you what I think of Pius Thicknesse, but I understand young children listen to the WWN, so you wouldn't be able to repeat it." Harry was laughing as he said this, but he meant it nonetheless. "Seriously, I don't know much about Thicknesse before he got his promotion a year ago. But I met the man at the end of June when I had to give a statement, and I was less than impressed. Several times during our brief meeting, he appeared flustered, as if he wasn't sure what he was doing. He even proved himself to be ignorant of the laws he claims he upholds. You see, Mister Weasley here – that's Arthur Weasley – was kind enough to act as my advocate at the interview, which Thicknesse argued was not allowed, even though the law clearly does just that. Looked it up myself … it's in section 127, paragraph seven, of the Code for the Under-Aged."

"I'll be sure to look that one up, Mister Potter," Quilty said with a wink. Claims that the Head of Magical Law Enforcement tried to deny an underage wizard proper representation were sure to up his fee, especially when the underage wizard was a certain Boy. "Now, what can you tell me about the attack earlier?"

"I'm sorry, but I really do have to be going. Perhaps Mister Weasley would be willing to speak more with you after he sees us safely through the Floo?" Harry's question caught Arthur by surprise, but the man graciously agreed.

He and Ron started toward the nearest fireplace when Rita Skeeter nosed her way into the group. "Potter," she began in a demanding voice, "what do you have to say about the suggestion that Minister Scrimgeour was targeted because of the luncheon he had with you? That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sending you a message with the killing?"

Seeing the small crowd that was listening, Harry leaned close to her and replied, "I say, let's have dinner some time, Rita." With an openly laughing Ron walking beside him, Harry made his way the Floo.

From there, he and Ron traveled back to the Burrow for a short visit and a big lunch. The boys wisely glossed over the excitement at the Ministry, instead giving a play-by-play of Ron's test and Harry's interview. Harry even remembered to tell Mrs. Weasley that Arthur wanted that crumble tonight. When the food had disappeared, the three teens got in a short game of broom tag before Harry had to head back to the cottage.

He shared a chaste goodbye with Ginny – they hadn't been given any time alone his entire visit – and reminded her that he would be returning in two days. In the aftermath of the Minster's assassination, Bill and Fleur had moved up their wedding to this weekend and cut their guest list to a bare minimum, thinking it would be safer than the lavish event Molly had planned for them. Harry had been asked to stay from Thursday to Sunday to help with the preparations and join in the celebration, and Albus had given his blessing to the extended visit.

Shouting one last goodbye to the family, Harry disappeared into the flames. After the events of the day, his dinner at the cottage was boring in comparison, as was his weekly visit with Doctor Tony. It had been two hellish weeks without his 'happy dream' pills. At first, the nasty nightmares had really bothered him, but over the course of the two weeks, they had gradually eased up. Harry had offered to share his dream journal with the doctor, but Tony just shook his head no, saying that Harry must have already figured out their meaning if they were getting better.

That decided, they were back to their original problem – that Harry needed something that would help keep his mind his own while he slept. His old prescription had worked by helping to block negative emotions, which is the only kind of emotion Voldemort associates with Harry. Harry privately theorized that the euphoric feelings caused by the drug were so repugnant to Voldemort that he couldn't stomach being in Harry's dreams.

Doctor Tony understood the problem, but was hesitant to put Harry back on the pills due to his Ventris Inner-erosion, since there was a chance that they had been a contributing factor. It was hard for any of them to accurately guess how the Muggle drug interacted with a magical ailment. In the end, after listening to Harry's very real fears of Voldemort getting into his mind at night, the doctor had agreed that some risk was worth taking, and he'd given Harry a new prescription.

The new drug metabolized differently, so it shouldn't aggravate his ailment. This one wasn't technically a sleeping aid, so he would have to fall asleep on his own, but it would increase certain chemical levels in his brain which should have the desired effect. Albus nodded as if he understood the medical jargon (even though Harry was certain the man hadn't), and they left after arranging for his next appointment two weeks out.

Harry was actually eager to get to sleep that night and see if the new pills did the trick. And boy, did they! Harry had awakened to sticky sheets and indecent thoughts of Ginny. In any other instance, he might have been embarrassed, but this morning he laughed as he pictured Voldemort's reaction if he had tried to enter that particular dream. He did, however, cast a quick cleaning spell on the bed. He still remembered the time last summer when Dobby had found similarly dirty sheets. The house-elf had been beside himself with worry that _the great Harry Potter_ must have been struck by a powerful dark curse that was causing his body to leak during the night. He'd been unable to keep Dobby from sharing his concerns with Albus – a humiliating discussion full of twinkling eyes and double entendre that Harry would give his wand to forget.

Waiting for Harry at the breakfast table was the Daily Prophet, with a word-by-word recap of his brief interview. Of course, the story sharing the front page covered the kidnapping attempt and the courageous way he had fought back, complete with a picture of Harry fiercely waving his wand. Watching the picture repeat – and unable to figure out what he'd been doing to make his wand move like that – he had to admit, it looked pretty silly.

According to the story, he proved himself as The Chosen One by his "spectacular array of offensive spells"; which was odd, as he could only remember using the Disarming spell. At least Arthur got a good mention for "valiantly jumping to the aid of our hero". Ron was even mention, but only in passing, as in "also injured was Ron Weasley". At least they got his name right.

Putting the paper aside, Harry hoped that Ron's jealousy wasn't about to rear its ugly head again. Albus assured him his friend would be fine before congratulating him on his first full-fledged publicity stunt. Although, Albus wondered aloud, perhaps he had overdone the 'endangered hero' angle. For an old man, he sure could dodge flying silverware!

As Albus left for the Wizengamot to oversee the selection of the new Minister, he thanked Harry again for doing the interview. He knew better than most how much Harry hated the publicity, but he also knew – and Harry had reluctantly agreed – that Harry's endorsement of Bluestreak was bound to sway the votes of some of the fence-sitting members.

When Albus returned, far into the evening, Harry eagerly asked for news and Albus obliged. Deliberations had started right on time, and at first it had looked like Bluestreak would easily be named. But dinner time came and went, and they were still bogged down in procedure, as two of the members had simply refused to allow a call to vote. Finally, around 7:00, Albus had found a way around the stall tactics. The vote was called, and Gemini Bluestreak won by a wide margin. He accepted congratulations from the fellow nominees and several members of the Wizengamot as he made his way to Albus' side. He was sworn in as Minister in front of a mostly enthusiastic crowd.

He immediately made three appointments: he named Auror Captain Barney Miller to run the Auror Department, promoted Kingsley Shacklebolt to Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and shuffled the ex-acting-Minister Pius Thicknesse from that position (which was still technically his) to the International Magical Cooperation department, much like Crouch had been many years before. It was also the post vacated by the newly elected Bluestreak. Rather convenient, that.

Harry was somewhat surprised that Bluestreak had gotten away with those moves. Particularly Kingsley's promotion, which leap-frogged him to one of the most important positions within the Ministry. But this Minister had wanted to set the tone that he was serious about getting rid of even the hint of impropriety, which Thicknesse had in spades.

Bluestreak had also given his support to Albus' suggestion that all Ministry employees be checked for the Dark Mark, and in a rare compromise, it was agreed that all Department Heads, supervisors, and Aurors would be checked as they reported to work the next morning.

Harry and Albus celebrated the victory for the Order (and wizardkind, of course) by having double helpings of treacle tart, which Dobby had been keeping warm. After eating their fill, the two moved to the back yard and relaxed in the peaceful surroundings. While they were enjoying the calm night air, a ghostly lynx leapt from the tree line and prowled over to Albus, where it sat expectantly before saying in a deep slow voice "mission accomplished". A second later, the cat dissolved.

Seeing Harry's excited face, Albus began to explain the mission he had given Kingsley, when Harry waved him off. "Forget the mission. You have _got_ to teach me how to do that."

Albus chuckled, realizing that he had been remiss in his teaching duties. Rising from his seat, he drew his wand as he launched into an impromptu lesson on how to send a message via Patronus. It really wasn't that difficult, once one had the Patronus Charm mastered. He explained that the stronger one's corporeal Patronus appeared – that is to say, the brighter and more defined – the longer the message it could carry. Harry picked the magic up quickly; but then, Prongs was a rather impressive Patronus.

Before the two headed to bed, Albus filled Harry in on his travel plans. At the request of the new Minister, Albus and Kingsley were traveling to America to meet with the Organized Sorcery Union, known as the OSU. While Harry was enjoying the wedding festivities, they would be seeking assistance in dealing with the rogue Dementors. Back in the 1960's, Dementors had been overrunning the foothills of Tennessee, until the OSU stepped in one summer and the attacks and sighting stopped. In the ensuing years, the OSU remained tight-lipped as to their methods. But with the Dementors hunting and breeding uncontrolled across the country, it was time to find out what the OSU knew.

Albus promised to pick him up from the Burrow on Sunday, but did caution him to go somewhere safe if for any reason his didn't show up. Remembering the Ministry pamphlets from last summer, Harry pestered Albus until the man agreed to a password of sorts, something that could be innocently worked into a conversation, but would instantly prove that he was the real Dumbledore. Albus had thought it pointless; he had argued that if he was captured, his captor would surely torture the password from him. But Harry countered – "what if I let Lestrange take me home because she reminds me to call Snape Professor and so I think she's you?" They eventually settled on 'Hagrid's umbrella'.

In the early hours of Thursday morning, Harry once again had to charm his sheets as he left his bed, smiling as he thought about seeing the object of his dreams. He dressed quickly and threw some clothes into his bag before running down the stairs to meet Albus for breakfast. The two shared a quick meal before they walked out the front door to go their separate ways. Albus was heading to the Ministry, where he needed to finish up some paperwork before joining Kingsley for their trip across the pond. Harry was heading to nirvana, also know as the Burrow.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, Harry concentrated on his destination. Silently appearing in the road in front of the house, he made his way toward the lopsided house he thought of as a second – _'make that third'_ – home.

The closer he got to the house, the surer he was that someone would come out to welcome him; but strangely, no one did. Harry couldn't remember ever arriving at the Burrow with no one to greet him – well, except that first time. But then, that had been a secret mission. Casting suspicious glances around the yard, he pulled his wand as he slowly crept toward the kitchen door.

Once he'd moved closer to the porch, he heard the familiar sound of Mrs. Weasley – _'Molly … I'm supposed to call her Molly'_ – shouting. From what he could make out, she was on a rant at Bill and Fleur. Harry wondered how the couple had found themselves on the receiving end of Molly's wrath mere days before their wedding. Hearing the shrieking voice, he was suddenly glad that he and Ginny were eloping.

Not wanting to enter a battlefield, Harry made his way around to the rarely-used front door. Knowing that no one would be able to hear him knock, Harry let himself into the house and deposited his bag in the sitting room before heading to the kitchen. Ginny spotted him lurking in the doorway, and signaled for him to stay where he was.

From this position he could see that Fleur was seated at the table, looking as nervous as she had just before the first task. Bill was standing stiffly behind her, his hands holding onto her shoulders protectively. Ginny was hovering near the sink trying to keep out of the line of fire, but clearly enjoying the show. Ron was seated at the closest end of the table with his back to Harry. He appeared to be eating his breakfast, quite oblivious to the maelstrom around him. Turning his attention to the motherly woman, Harry picked up what she was saying.

"Did it even occur to the two of you that we could all use a little something to celebrate? To think that I – oh, hello Harry." Her face melted into a huge smile upon spotting him. She motioned for him to take the empty chair directly across from Fleur as she continued in a suddenly cheerful voice. "Have a seat and I'll find you something to eat, dear. I'm sure Ron hasn't managed to eat everything."

And without missing a beat, she turned to the stove and got to work as she picked up where she had left off. She spoke louder now, since her back was to the room. "To think, William, that I carried you for _nine months_ – summer months, William, when it's all hot and sticky – endured _twenty-one_ hours of labor to bring you into this world – no potions to numb that pain, mind you – and you can't even wait a few months so your poor, dear mother can attend your wedding!"

The silence was deafening, if such a thing were possible, and Harry felt incredibly out of place. Fleur was looking over her shoulder at Bill and they appeared to be silently communicating. Molly turned back around, thrusting a full plate at Ginny as she said, "here you go, Harry dear. I hope you don't mind eggs and tomatoes."

Biting back any comment on the wrongly delivered plate, Ginny dodged behind her mother and set said plate in front of her boyfriend. As she bent down she whispered, "they just confessed they got married back in May when they visited her family in France." Harry shot her an anxious look – _this was how Mrs. Weasley reacted to someone eloping?_ Ginny gave him a small shrug, then winked as she sank into the seat next to him. Despite the fact that he had already eaten, he made quick work of the food, intent on finishing quickly so he could escape the kitchen before the calm ended. He wasn't fast enough.

"All I've ever wanted," Molly continued from directly behind Harry, her voice quivering, "was to watch my children grow ... to help them when their lives are hard … and to celebrate with them when their lives are happy." She was sniffling toward the end, and Harry refused to look behind him for fear that he would see tears falling from her eyes.

Across from him, he could see that Bill was trying to stay strong, but Fleur was wilting under Molly's gaze. Suddenly the blond beauty couldn't take it anymore. "We're having a baby," she blurted.

Every occupant of the room froze, waiting to see how Molly would take the shocking news. Ron had even stopped eating, and appeared to be braced for a quick escape. The only one in the room that had the guts to look at directly at Molly was Bill, and he steadfastly looked his mother in the eye, even as the red on his face threatened to become permanent.

"_OH, my baby's having a baby!"_ she finally shrieked. Then, in a move so quick that Harry swore it was Apparition, she was beside Bill and his bride, pulling them both into a bone-crushing hug. By silent but unanimous consent, the three teens in the room made a hasty retreat. Once in the back yard, they broke into laughter as they discussed what had just happened. Harry shot Ginny a few furtive glances, as if to ask if she was still on board for their own secret wedding. Behind Ron's back, she held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers, nodding her head as she did so.

Dinner that night was a lively affair. Not only were the twins in attendance - and in full jokster mode - but Molly was getting quite carried away making baby plans. Her excitement was understandable – it was her first grandchild. He or she would be making his or her appearance in early January. As Molly had loudly complained more than once through the meal, she only had six months to get ready. Between the excitement of the baby, and the news that Percy would be attending what was now a renewal of vows on Saturday, she was so happy that she didn't yell at anyone throughout the entire meal – even when Fred asked Bill some very inappropriate questions about when and where the baby was created.

Hermione had also arrived just before the food hit the table, and she and Ginny were sitting on either side of Harry teasing him mercilessly about his latest Daily Prophet cover story. Hermione repeatedly referred to him as her "steady-handed wand warrior" – an unfortunate phrase that an obviously female Prophet writer had used. Ron tried to hide his laughter as he ate, but it was a losing struggle for him, and he soon joined in the banter. He accused Harry of cheating on Ginny with Rita Skeeter because he had heard Harry invite the pest to dinner. Harry accepted the ribbing graciously (well, sort of anyway); he was just glad Ron hadn't been upset by the "also there" mention he had received.

The only serious part of the night came when Arthur reported on those that had called in sick for work. Every last one of them, including two Aurors, was given until closing time on Monday to present themselves to be checked for the Dark Mark. If they missed the deadline, they could consider themselves unemployed. Of special note was Pius Thicknesse - the almost-Minister turned Department Head had been checked and found clean-armed, lending credence to Snape's Imperious theory.

It was unfortunate, Harry felt, that known Death Eaters like Yaxley and Goyle weren't supervisors or Department Heads, and therefore weren't part of the probe. They would maintain their posts unchecked. Arthur, perhaps sensing that the conversation could use some levity, admitted he'd shortened the sleeves on this robes to display his unblemished arms for all to see.

After mulitple helpings of tasty fruit tarts, the four friends excused themselves to Ron's room where they talked and played Exploding Snap until past midnight. As the girls left for Ginny's room, Harry discreetly pulled out his new pills and swallowed one, silently praying they weren't quite as effective as they had been the last two nights. But Harry is seldom that lucky, and he swore to himself as he once again woke to messy sheets.

Fortunately it was still early, and Ron was still asleep. Harry was about to charm the sheets clean when he remembered Ron's teasing the night before. With a wicked grin, he performed a perfect Switching Spell, replacing his dirty sheets with Ron's clean ones. As an afterthought, he used one of the Prince's spells to make the front of Ron's pajamas wet – a clever spell that he figured Snape had created to make it appear that Sirius, or maybe his dad, had pissed himself.

Ron would be grossed-out if he ever learned the truth, but Harry had no intention of that happening. Besides, Harry had been pretty grossed-out by Ron's insinuations regarding Rita Skeeter, so he felt perfectly justified. And, he reasoned, Padfoot would have approved.

****end chapter****

**Notes:** Harry's prank – gross, yes; but also sounds just like something a teenage wizard would do. About the chapter title; I guess I got a bit carried away with the alliteration thing. Harry as poster-boy for the new Minister? Well, he is "Dumbledore's man", and Albus asked him to do it.

From last chapter: The Gemini and the Blue Streak are two of the oldest roller coasters at Cedar Point amusement park.


	12. The Nonwedding

Legal Notice: If you recognize it, I don't own it. I just borrow it, play with it, and then put it back when I'm done … OK, you got me. I leave it on the floor until someone steps on it and breaks it and then we have to throw it away.

I should probably point this out now to avoid confusion. For Aunt Muriel, I wiped the slate clean and made her how I wanted her, so please don't tell me I have her wrong. I can't be wrong … it's my story.

.

.

**Chapter 12. The Nonwedding**

It seemed like it had only been minutes – and maybe it had – since he'd switched the sheets and climbed back into bed when Harry found himself being rudely reawakened by the sounds of laughter and shrieking. Opening his eyes, he saw identical red heads standing on either side of Ron's bed. Hearing the ribbing the twins were giving Ron – he was certain he'd heard Hermione's name mentioned – he kept his head down as he put on his glasses.

It wouldn't do for Fred or George to spot his guilty face; they knew the look of faux innocence, having perfected it themselves. Seeking a quick getaway, he excused himself to take a shower. Hearing Ron's plea for help, he stopped at the door and turned back. "Sorry, mate, but my sheets are clean, thank you very much." _'And I do mean thank you, Ron.'_

All cleaned up, he returned to the room to find the twins waiting for him. They'd arranged for Lee Jordan to cover the shop for a few days so they could spend time with their family and attend the 'non-wedding', as they were calling it. Harry suspected they either had a major prank planned for the celebration that required some extra set-up, or they were trying to soften up their mother. Or maybe both. Deciding he was safer not knowing, he asked no questions so they would tell him no lies, instead silently following them to the kitchen to get their morning fill.

After a bountiful breakfast the four boys, plus Ginny and a newly arrived Charlie took to the air for some three-on-three Quidditch. Harry and the twins flew against the others in a no-holds-barred game that was dirtier than most Gryffindor-Slytherin matches. It was pretty obvious to Harry that the twins weren't as interested winning the game so much as they were in hitting their siblings with the Quaffle, the practice Bludger, their Beater's bats – pretty much anything they could aim.

Charlie was artfully ducking the projectiles while searching his heart out for a snitch that Fred had never set free. Perhaps he'd been away from the twins for too long; even Harry had caught Fred's slight of hand.

Near the far end of the paddock Harry and Ginny were doing as much talking as they were flying, only getting involved in the game when a ball came their way. There also seemed to be a lot of grabbing of the other's broom, leading to a lot of body-to-body contact between the two. Luckily, there was no referee to call the fouls, although the twins provided plenty of cat calls.

And Ron … poor Ron … he was trying to score, really he was. But every time he got close, Fred would call out something like, "hey Ron, is your broom getting sticky from that tight grip?", and Ron would get flustered and drop the Quaffle. And once, when Hermione had popped by to watch the play, George loudly asked Ron if he wanted Harry to bunk with Charlie to give him some privacy.

"Alright, guys," Harry finally cut in, "I think we get the point. Maybe you could lay off, yeah?" The twins were clearly torn, until he added, " … at least 'til after the game." Ron really shouldn't have asked Harry if he would give Skeeter a goodnight kiss on their date.

After a simple lunch, Molly put all the available Weasley's to work getting things ready for the celebration the next day; except Fleur, who was told to rest. Because of security concerns, they had drastically shortened the guest list, so only immediate family and a few close friends would be attending. It didn't matter to Molly, though. She still insisted the Burrow be at its best.

In addition to cleaned and decorated, the yard would be heavily protected by anti-everything spells. A sturdy magical fence, only three feet tall but made of thick wooden planks crisscrossed and nailed together, was being placed around the house and back yard. Where it crossed over the drive, it grew to a height of five feet to accommodate its only gate. The gate itself was solid, and could only be opened from the inside for the duration of the weekend. In an attempt to make it look more ornamental, Molly insisted the whole thing be whitewashed.

It wouldn't hold up against a prolonged onslaught, but it would keep undesirables out long enough to allow the family and guests to escape in the event of an attack. All they would have to do is make it over the fence, and they could Apparate to freedom.

Her boys grumbled over the chores, but knew better than to refuse and started dividing up the work amongst themselves. Ginny would be following her mother around, lending a hand wherever it was needed. As the Weasleys headed off to tackle their chores, Hermione asked, "What about us, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh … not you two dears," she answered. "You just find something to do with yourselves this afternoon. Best enjoy your time as guests while you can."

Hermione seemed to miss the hidden meaning, but Harry picked up on it right away, and winked at the smiling woman as Hermione excused herself to retrieve her book bag. "Nice one. But really, we should be helping too. I'm pretty sure I make as much of a mess as Ron does."

"That's nice of you to say, Harry," she replied, with just a hint of laughter in her voice, "but _trolls_ seldom make as much of a mess as my Ronald does."

Harry snorted at the joke, remembering how many times Ron's clothes and books had ended up on his bed … and under his bed … and even in his trunk over the years. But jokes aside, Harry felt he should be helping, and argued his case with Molly. She of course refused, only giving in when he went for the jugular, so to speak: he volunteered himself and Ginny to make dinner so she would have time to knit that baby blanket he knew she was secretly working on.

Harry and Hermione spent the afternoon playing with Norbert (the dog, not the dragon) and talking homework ("I do hope Professor Flitwick gives extra credit for including the diagrams"); Muggle things they wished wizards had ("yes, you can enchant an abacus … but calculators are faster and easier"); and of course, Terry Boot. Although, it is more accurate to say they were bashing instead of merely discussing that last one.

"Looking back," Hermione had reluctantly admitted, "I can see that I was more attracted to his intellect than his personality."

Harry chocked on his laughter as he replied, "Yeah, I know what you mean … I dated Cho for her _intellect_, too." That comment earned him a good-natured swat on the arm.

When the clock chimed 4:30 (and most of its hands were pointing to 'slacking off'), Harry excused himself to find Ginny and get dinner started. He was planning a simple meal and didn't really need her help, but he wanted the company. And the smile on her face relayed her gratitude; she's had enough of trailing after her mother for the day, it seemed.

Mrs. Weasley had only stayed in the kitchen long enough to insure that Harry knew what he was doing, then she disappeared to her room, a bag of yarn under her arm. Once she'd left, Harry shooed Ginny out of his way as he got to work. He was busy dicing the vegetables for a basic stew when he heard footsteps approaching behind him.

Glancing back, he spotted Fred and George making themselves at home; the former resting his bum on the kitchen table and the latter leaning casually against a counter. He knew this because they were wearing large name tags. Ginny was still sitting at the table thumbing through a magazine, but Harry saw that her wand was within easy reach on the table top.

The twin at the counter opened the conversation. "Harry, my good man, Fred and I have a little something for you."

Harry glanced dubiously from one twin to the other. "OK, why does that frighten me?"

The twins look at each other and laughed before the other – Fred – explained. "Nothing about this should frighten you, but yeah, I can see why you would think that. This is serious, mate."

"See, we read about that little incident at the Ministry," the other picked up. "And we've been thinking … it must suck to be you sometimes."

Harry looked up again, leveling his gaze at George. "And you're just figuring this out now?"

George laughed again, "whoa there, Harry, no need to get all twisted. We don't mean anything by it. Just stating a fact."

"Fact, it sucks to be Harry Potter," his twin cheerfully stated, as he started holding up fingers to keep count. "Fact, bad people want to kill and or hurt and or maim Harry Potter. Fact, Harry Potter finds trouble like a niffler finds gold. Fact –"

"We get it, Fred," Ginny interrupted. "Do you two actually have a point or are you just wanting to harass my boyfriend?" By this point Ginny had given up the magazine and was giving the conversation her full attention. Knowing the twins as she did, her wand was now firmly in her hand.

"_Rraarrr_, Ginny," one of them said, "put those claws away. We already said, we're being serious." The twins appeared to communicate silently for a second. "Why don't we just give it to him?"

"Right then. Here you go Harry." From his spot on the table, Fred tossed a small sack at Harry, which he easily caught.

He cautiously opened the sack and peered inside before dumping its contents into his hand. Resting on his palm was a flesh colored piece of thin, rubber-like material, a little larger than a galleon but more oval in shape. He carefully picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, and lightly shook it, causing it to flap in the air. Turning it over, he found the back side to be the same color, but where the front had felt smooth the back was spongy and slightly sticky.

With a look of confusion, he finally asked, "I give, what is it?"

"And you call yourself Muggle-raised?" George shook his head sadly as he looked to his brother as if he didn't know how to respond.

"We call it the Blood Sucker-Upper," Fred explained. "Let's say you have an ouchy, and it's all bloody and yucky, but you're a poor, helpless underage wizard being forced to live with Muggles."

"Totally unable to perform the most basic healing charm," the other added.

"But you've got a hot date –"

"Can't be too hot, Fred," George butted in, "'cause that's our sister he's dating."

"Right. So you've got a perfectly boring date, and you want to look your best. You just take your trusty Blood Sucker-Upper and press it against your boo-boo, and it forms to your skin."

"Once it's on, it's totally invisible," his brother picked up, "so no one can tell you have it on. And no nasty blood dripping all over your date's favorite dress, which I'm told they find rather offensive."

Harry took the Blood Sucker-Upper and pressed the sticky side to the back of his hand, where it tickled as it slowly faded from view. With the other hand, he rubbed the spot and discovered that not only couldn't he see it, he could barely even feel it. "Wow, guys ... that's pretty amazing. But, ah, I live with a wizard now, and I'll be seventeen in just a few weeks, so ..."

The twin at the table sighed loudly, indicating that Harry had missed something important. "_Harry, Harry, Harry_. Don't you have …I don't know, maybe an old wound that scarred over, leaving you hideously disfigured yet easily recognized?"

Harry instantly perked up at the possibilities. He looked down at the hand he had placed the bandage on. "How do I get it off?"

Fred walked over and held his wand over Harry's hand. _"Aguamenti!"_ Water shot from the wand, splashing onto Harry's hand before being deflected into his face. Harry jerked his hand out of the way while stepping back at the same time. Across the room, he could hear his girlfriend snickering at his expense.

"Hey! Was that really necessary?" Harry squawked.

"Necessary? No. Funny? Definitely." Fred controlled his laughter long enough to explain that getting the devise wet instantly made it loosen its grip. Sure enough, the rubbery bandage was again visible as it sat loosely on Harry's hand.

Forgetting he was still wet from his surprise shower, Harry reached up and pressed the oval to his forehead. When he felt it stick, he conjured a mirror and took a good look. Reflected back from the shiny surface was a perfectly ordinary, perfectly smooth forehead. Without the scar, he couldn't help but think that now he really was a perfect copy of his father. _'Except the eyes, their Mum's.'_

Ginny had by this time come over, and he turned to look at her. She studied his forehead intently before reaching up with her hand and touching the now-empty space. A smile crept across her face. "Perfect. Now all he needs is red hair, and he can claim to be a Weasley relative. We can go out together, to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, and nobody would know it was you." She turned and gave each of her brothers a hug. "Thanks guys."

The cauldron on the stove chose that moment to start to bubble, and Ginny went to stir the pot while Harry offered his own thanks to his matching friends.

"Not quite so fast there Harry," Fred said, once he was sure Ginny was preoccupied. "While we're being serious here, there is one other thing."

"We heard from Ronnikins that Mum and Dad had to make a trip to Hogwarts last semester. Anything you want to confess?"

The question caught Harry off guard, and he was sure he was doing a fine imitation of a deer caught in the headlights. "Er … Hogwarts, you say?" _'good cover, idiot'_

But he was saved by Ginny, who had never really stopped paying attention because, well, it's the twins. "It's alright Harry. I don't mind if they know." The twins turned their attention to their baby sister, but stayed close to Harry, lest they determine they needed to rough him up a bit, big-brother style.

"Harry and Malfoy had had an altercation, and Harry used Legilimency on the ponce," she explained, which was true, although it had absolutely nothing to do with her parents being called to the castle. "I helped him cover it up by getting rid of Malfoy's lackey. Harry's guardian punished him by making him write a horrible essay on everything that could have gone wrong with the spell."

As Ginny had hoped, they zeroed in on the bit about Malfoy; totally missing that they had been caught doing much worst without having their parents called in. Fred beamed as he asked, "So Harry was romping through Malfoy's mind and little Ginny-bear helped him cover up his crime?"

Harry cringed uncomfortably at the description, but no one seemed to notice as George continued, "And what punishment did Mum and Dad come up with for you?"

"Just had to miss out on Hogsmeade; at least officially. But my Harry has this fancy cloak and this little piece of parchment, so it wasn't so bad." And with that statement, the twins completely forgot about parents and punishments as they instead swapped stories about using the map while Harry got back to his cooking.

Before long, the twins noticed the time and excused themselves from the room. The Weasley brothers were taking Bill out for his stag night, despite the fact that Bill wasn't really a bachelor anymore. Ron had offered to stay behind, but Harry had insisted Ron's place was with his family tonight.

Now that he had the Blood Sucker-Upper, the twins invited him to come along, and he was sorely tempted. Ultimately, however, he had to decline. He had promised Albus he wouldn't leave the Burrow, and a hidden scar and new hair color didn't negate the promise. Besides, he was being handed a brother-free evening with his girlfriend on a silver platter, and nothing was worth giving that up.

And so, after the others had left, Harry and Ginny sat down with Molly, Arthur and Hermione for a quiet dinner. During the meal, Arthur and Molly kept shooting Harry strange looks, until finally Molly just had to ask, "Harry dear, what happened to your scar?"

His explanation took her by surprise, and he removed the bandage to show to her. As she held the Blood Sucker-Upper – "oh, what a horrid name!" – it was clear she was proud of her troublesome twosome for creating something that would not only benefit Harry personally, but would be helpful to all Muggle-born students.

After the meal, which Arthur had declared excellent, the five retired to the family room to relax and listen to the wireless, which was playing a string of hits by Celestina Warbeck in remembrance of the lost talent. Harry and Ginny were sitting cozily beside each other on the sofa reading the same Quidditch magazine when they heard a deep gong from outside. Arthur excused himself to greet their guest, who was stuck outside the perimeter fence they had finished earlier.

Molly and Ginny kept sharing furtive glances with each other, followed by glances at Harry. Honestly, he was beginning to feel like the unwanted guest that wouldn't leave. When Arthur could be heard on the front porch, Molly gave Ginny a pointed look as she asked her daughter to put on the kettle.

Harry watched Ginny leave the room before refocusing his attention to the woman Arthur was escorting into the room. She was old, he could tell that right away. Her peppered hair was worn in that short, curly style that the widows on Privet Drive preferred. She was also thin, but not to the point of looking unhealthy or frail. The robes she wore were pristine but hopelessly outdated, covered in ruffles as they were, and the thickness of her glasses put Harry's to shame. In other words, she was a typical elderly woman.

She entered the room regally, demanding respect in a way reminiscent of the Malfoys, although in this instance Harry felt compelled to give it. She walked slowly, allowing Arthur to lead her, but Harry could see the vice-like grip she had on Arthur's arm, professing her strength.

This was the fabled Great Auntie Muriel – whom dragons fear and Dementors flee from, at least according to Ron. She completely ignored Molly as she made her way to the empty chair nearest the fireplace, were she made a show of sinking into its cushions and shifting until she was comfortable. Then, still without saying a word, she held her hand out expectantly.

Apparently, this _was_ expected, because Ginny instantly appeared and placed a saucer and full tea cup in her hand. She curtly thanked Ginny as she tested a sip of the tea. Announcing the drink adequate, she briskly dismissed Ginny and a heretofore unacknowledged Hermione from the room. Setting the saucer on the side table, she turned her full attention to Harry.

Having been raised by Petunia Dursley, he'd had proper manners drilled into his mind at an early age; most of which dealt with how to act around your betters. Which, given her opinion of him, included pretty much everyone else, with the possible exception of the garbage man. But in a twisted way, Harry was now grateful for those lessons, because he knew without being told that he was expected to present himself to Great Auntie Muriel.

Rising, he moved to stand in front of the woman, being sure to hold his back straight, although he covertly wipe his hands on his trousers. Strangely, he found himself wishing he'd dressed in some nice robes instead of just jeans and an old Quidditch t-shirt. Before he could open his mouth, Arthur had stepped behind him and made the introductions.

Muriel looked him up and down critically. She clasped her hands in her lap and stared up into his eyes, finally speaking, "So you're that boy that lived?"

"Yes, Mrs. Prewett," he politely responded, trying to keep his exasperation from his voice at her reference to that hated title.

"You're the one that involves our Ronald in all those crazy stunts," she prodded, "fighting trolls and such nonsense?"

"Yes, Mrs. Prewett," he again answered, although not as confidently as before.

"And now you're courting our Ginevra?" she inquired.

"Er, yes," he hesitantly replied, hoping courting and dating were the same thing. A slight nod from Molly encouraged him to add, "For almost a year now, Mrs. Prewett."

"I see. Now, tell me how many uses are there for dragon's blood," she demanded.

The question surprised Harry; he'd been expecting an inquisition of a more personal nature. Luckily, after the Nicolas Flamel fiasco, he could recite one particular Chocolate Frog card from memory. "Albus Dumbledore is credited with having discovered the twelve uses."

She nodded as she continued her interrogation. "And how many exceptions are there to Gamp's Law of Transfiguration?"

Oh, he knew this; he'd just read an interesting article in Albus' _Transfiguration Today_ magazine about temperature as a proposed sixth exception. "Five," he easily replied.

"Good, good. At least you haven't filled your head with fluff at that school ... unlike certain identical boys who shall remain nameless. Now, I hear you are pretty good at defense. Tell me, what would you do if you came across a crup?"

A crup? There wasn't anything particularly scary about a dog with a forked tail that he could remember. "Pet it?" he half said, half asked.

She cocked her head to the side as she considered his answer. "Very well … now be a dearie and bring an old lady that ball of yellow yarn from the floor over there – not with your wand, with your hands, child."

Harry did as he was asked, and once she had the yarn in hand, he politely excused himself to check on his homework. As he was climbing the stairs, he clearly heard Muriel say "Not a bad catch, that one. Polite, smart enough … good looking, though the hair's a bit scruffy … but nice, firm buttocks that make up for that. Best see to it that Ginevra doesn't mess this one up … she's not likely to find better."

Ginny met him in Ron's room shortly thereafter, playfully demanding he pick up everything on the floor so she could check out his firm buttocks. Harry played along, pretending not to notice as she dropped more things for him to pick up. Along the way, Hermione had heard the laughter and ventured in from Ginny's room to join in the fun.

The three visited for most of the evening, but the girls left at a decent hour because Ginny knew that Aunt Muriel would be performing a bed-check on her own way to sleep. Muriel claimed she was too old for needless travel, so she was spending the night in Percy's old room so she would be on hand to help in the morning. That news had not been well received by the Weasley children. Or Molly, come to think of it.

As Saturday morning dawned, Harry woke up to Ron's loud snores … and another mess. 'Happy' couldn't even begin to describe the dreams his new prescription induced. He looked slyly toward Ron, but knew he wouldn't get away with it twice in a row. Vaguely remembering Ron's drunken hoots when he'd stumbled in extremely early this morning, Harry knew his friend would be oblivious to anything he did.

Sitting back, he went over his limited options in his mind. He didn't want to chance using magic to clean the threadbare sheets – they looked like even the gentlest cleaning charm might do them in. Changing them the Muggle way was also out as he didn't have a clue where the clean sheets were kept. But there was another option …

Weighing what he was considering against the endless teasing he would endure if the sheets were discovered, he made up his mind. Keeping his voice down, he hissed, "Kreacher!"

The ornery old house-elf appeared in an instant, looking around the room he'd appeared in with disgust. Knowing it was best not to let the elf get started – _'rather like Molly in that'_ – he ordered the elf to bring some clean sheets from Grimmauld Place and switch them with the ones on his bed, taking the dirty ones back to the house.

Kreacher looked at the bed, grimacing at the rickety camp bed. Harry thought he was about to object, but the elf only sighed as he snapped his fingers and disappeared with a pop. Seconds later, he returned with a louder pop, and had the dirty yellow sheets swapped for crisp green ones before Harry could even get off the bed. Harry just had to hope that Molly didn't notice the difference when she did the laundry.

With another snap, this one easily twice as loud as the others, the elf disappeared again, dirty sheets in hand. And this time, the noise was enough to penetrate Ron's sleepy, alcohol-soaked brain, and he jolted upright, wand in hand and extended toward the noise. Too bad it was also backwards, so he was actually pointing it at himself. Harry stifled his laugh as he told Ron to go back to sleep. Seconds later, Ron's snores resumed, while Harry headed to the bathroom to beat the rush for the shower.

Refreshed, he arrived in the kitchen to find that all the children (which apparently meant everyone in his generation, except the bride) had been awakened and assembled. And now that the big day was upon them, Molly had no hang-up whatsoever about letting Harry and Hermione help. As the morning wore on, Harry helped with the cooking, helped wash the outside of the house, helped set up a massive tent, and helped fold napkins into swans, which then magically came to life and kept running away from the plates and pecking at each other.

Now, it must be said, Harry Potter is no coward. But that didn't stop him from ducking into Arthur's shed and hiding when he heard Molly calling for him again. A hushed snickering told him he wasn't alone; turning around he spotted Hermione and Fred (wearing last night's name tag) huddled in the corner, trying to fit behind an old-fashioned Muggle washing machine. "Where's George?" Harry asked.

"Hey, it's every man for himself out there," the lone twin explained, holding his hands up defensively. "I mean … _swans_, Harry."

"I hate to agree, but she's more uptight than Ron before Quidditch," Hermione added, "when I get married I'm slipping her a calming draught every four hours." Fred and Harry grinned as they shared knowing looks at Hermione's slip.

But eventually the three had to venture from their haven to get dressed for the ceremony. It wouldn't be an actual wedding, but the couple would be reciting their vows before the party could star. Mrs. Weasley had therefore insisted everyone look their best.

Remus Lupin, who had offered to act as gatekeeper for the day so the family could focus on the festivities, had arrived some time while Harry was hiding in the shed. The old Marauder saw the three sneaking out, and when Harry looked his way, he broke into mock applause.

Back in Ron's brightly colored bedroom, Harry donned the dress robes he had let Albus pick out for the occasion. _'A mistake if ever there was one.'_ They were made from vibrant blue silk with thick edging, and fancy flourishes were embroidered around the lapel and cuffs in thick gold cord. He'd never worn such flashy robes before, and he was decidedly self-conscious.

At least the cut was more form-fitting than what Albus wore, so nobody would think he was wearing the old man's clothes. Underneath he worn black trousers and a pressed shirt, which complimented the bright color nicely. He never would have chosen these robes for himself, but now that he was dressed he felt they looked more refined than gaudy. Not to mention how well they accentuated his firm buttock.

With a final check in the mirror ("it hasn't changed since you looked 30 seconds ago, honey"), he decided to forgo any disguise. It was only family and invited guests today, all of whom already knew to expect him here. Patting his pockets to make sure he had the essentials – such as wand, tissues for Ginny, and antidotes to some of the twins candies (best to be safe) – he told Ron he'd better hurry and left the room.

Downstairs, he immediately spotted Ginny, who was looking resplendent in robes of soft gold. The cut was very flattering on her, and the low neckline accented the Black pearls she wore around her neck, not to mention other things. He couldn't help but think she had stepped right out of one of his favorite fantasies – the one where he rescued her from a dark tower deep in a medieval forest – not that now was the time to think about _that_. Then she turned and smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with inner joy. She'd never looked lovelier. Harry couldn't look away; he just stood there and smiled back.

"Sappy berk," Ron whispered as he slipped past.

Averting his gaze, Harry spotted Hermione standing next to Ginny. She looked quite fetching (in a completely platonic way) in her outer robes of deep burgundy over a tea-length mauve dress. Her hair was swept up with a delicate shell comb, and if Ron's staring was any indication, it was a very becoming style.

"Yeah," he whispered back, "_I'm_ the sappy berk."

As the designated time neared, people started to filter out to the garden and take their seats. The chairs weren't exactly in rows, they were instead set up in two clusters, with an aisle for Fleur to walk in between. Definitely an odd layout, yet somehow it made perfect sense for the Burrow. It transformed the gathering from stiff and formal to friendly and inviting, because everyone was sitting amongst each other. Harry hung back, letting the family choose their seats first. He realized his mistake as the chairs filled – he was left with few choices since most everyone attending was family.

In fact, aside from the immediate family and Great Auntie Muriel, only a few select friends and three Order members were present. Remus was here of course, but dateless; his girlfriend was stuck working. Sturgis Podmore, who had found a new calling as a traveling cleric after his brief Azkaban stint, would be overseeing the vows. And seated close to Ginny was Dedalus Diggle.

As Harry had heard it, Diggle had known the Prewett brothers quite well. After their deaths, he had made it a point to stop and visit with the distraught Molly from time to time. He'd ended up being an enormous help entertaining a young Bill after the twins had arrived, and because of that she felt he deserved to be here.

Filling in two more seats were Hermione and Angelina Johnson, George's unannounced-yet-known fiancée. There were only four empty seats remaining, so Harry chose one that could be considered on the bride's side (at Fleur's request, since her own family wasn't attending), which put him nearest the food tables. He'd wanted that chair by Ginny, but Diggle had beaten him to it.

That left two guests unaccounted for. Percy, the prodigal son returned, had yet to arrive with his date. From her seat front and center, Molly kept looking anxiously toward the gate, and Remus kept shaking his head in silent reply.

Finally, with only minutes to spare, Percy arrived with Penelope Clearwater on his arm. His choice had totally surprised Harry, who hadn't thought that relationship would have survived Percy's love affair with the Ministry.

As soon as the latecomers were seated, Remus moved away from his post and took the open seat on the opposite side to Harry's. Music started to play, and everyone turned their attention to the non-bride, who was after all stunning in her simple robes of palest pink. She joined Bill under the tent and clasped his hand as they shared a smile – causing Molly to pull out a tissue.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered …" Podmore began, but Harry wasn't paying attention to the words. He was too busy shooting furtive glances at his girlfriend, who was doing the same toward him. Every time they would catch each other, they would share a secret smile, and Ginny would wiggle her eyebrows in what Harry felt was a suggestive manner.

Little bits of the ceremony were filtering through ("Bill, would you repeat after me…"), but in Harry's mind, he was the one being asked. And it was Ginny, dressed in glowing white, maybe with ribbons woven into her curled hair, who was gazing back lovingly.

Everyone else seemed equally caught up in the proceedings. In fact, they were all so engrossed in the exchange of vows that no one paid any attention as Penelope slipped out of her seat. No one watched as she pushed the gate open; no one took notice as uninvited guests enter the grounds. It was a loud grunting sound that finally drew everyone's attention, and the sight that greeted their eyes sent chills down their spines.

Five people – all obviously Death Eaters, although only four were in their prescribed masks and robes – stood spread out between the wedding party and the house, but that wasn't what had made Harry's heart stop. His eyes had been drawn to the creature that stood menacingly in their midst. It was a large, grayish-purple beast, as tall as the wizards next to it, but easily heavier than ten Vernon Dursleys. Each of its legs was as thick as Harry's whole body. Its massive head was grotesquely out of proportion to the rest of its body, giving it the appearance that it would fall over if it turned its head too fast.

That image was bolstered when it snorted again, causing its head to shake and saliva to drip from its gaping jaw. On its face were two deadly-looking, spindle-like horns; one sprouting up from behind the nostrils, and a longer and thinner horn from between and just behind the eyes. Rising up from its neck as if to frame its head was a short bony frill, which reminded Harry of a dinosaur he'd studied as a child.

This had to be a Graphorn; though how the Death Eaters found themselves with one was anyone's guess. And unlike the funny-looking triceratops, the Graphorn was definitely a carnivore. For an insane moment, Harry thought how disappointed Hagrid would be that he missed this.

Like Harry, the others all seemed momentarily mesmerized by the sight of the vicious creature, giving the Death Eaters the advantage. Before most of the guests had even drawn their wands, the intruders had thrown the first volley of spells, sending the family ducking for cover.

Harry fell to his left, away from most of the people, as he tried to remember what Fantastic Beasts had to say about Graphorns. One scream rose above the noise, and he looked back to see Molly Weasley falling backwards. A word she'd normally box Ron for using erupted from her mouth, at least confirming she wasn't dead.

As the beast began its rampage, herded straight through the gathering by its unmasked handler, Harry stumbled back onto his feet. He almost collided with Charlie, who was bent forward, clutching his stomach as if he'd been punched. Before he could offer his help, Charlie shook himself and straightened back up.

Harry's first instinct was to find Ginny, but the rapid Graphorn made that rather impossible at the moment. Instead he searched for cover; but all he could see nearby was the stack of extra chairs. Decided they would have to do, he turned and ran toward them. He'd taken about two steps in their direction when he tripped, landing across a warm, wet object. It was the lifeless body of Sturgis Podmore, his neck looking eerily similar the Nearly Headless Nick's.

Jumping away from the corpse, Harry vaulted himself the rest of the way to the chairs. Safe for the moment, he set about transfiguring them into a stone wall of medium height – not quite as tall as himself, but high enough he only had to crouch to stand behind it. Hunched behind the temporary structure he glanced around to see how everyone was faring.

But it was so hard to tell … he couldn't make out much from his angle … there was Arthur Weasley and … someone else … under the tent, firing spells at a rapid pace. Hermione's chair was empty – no sign of her … no Ginny either – he hoped they were alright. But there, on the ground by where Ginny had been sitting, he could make out the dark purple velvet of Dedalus Diggle's robes, his top hat lying on its side a few feet away. Squinting, he was sure he saw Diggle moving.

A shadow fell across his line of sight, and he looked up to see Ron and Charlie joining him behind his transformed shield. "Not too bad odds, but that Graphorn is going to be a problem," Ron quickly assessed, and Harry and Charlie couldn't help but agree.

Ron appeared to be unharmed, but Harry worried about Charlie, so he gestured toward his mid-section.

"I'll survive," Charlie assured him, although he was breathing rather heavily, and his face seemed pale. "Probably bruised my insides something awful, but I've had worse."

Harry nodded his understanding, but any other response was cut off by a particularly loud string of profanity. A broken chair preceded Fred careening around their wall, skidding to a stop by Charlie's side. He was rubbing his wand hand as if to alleviate a sting, but looked otherwise fine.

Suddenly, a loud voice could be heard above the noise, arrogantly calling out, "I seem to have lost my invitation, but I couldn't let this special occasion go by unnoticed. I hope you enjoy my gift."

Ron snorted, and Harry had to share the sentiment – even fallen from grace as he was, Lucius Malfoy was still a condescending arse. But then a thought occurred to Harry. "Question is, are they here just because they hate Weasleys, or did they know I would be here and they're going to try to capture me?"

"Couldn't it be both?" Fred quipped, just as a strong spell caused their wall to begin crumbling. Harry worked to reinforce the structure as his mind rapidly went over the basic facts. His side had the Death Eaters beaten in raw numbers, but the Death Eaters had the real advantage – not only did the Graphorn have those deadly horns, but if memory served, its thick, crinkled hide was supposed to repel spells and be tougher than a dragon's.

Over the transfigured wall, Harry could hear the monster crushing the tables that had been set up for eating. "Right … we're going to take out that Graphorn," he firmly announced. "Fred, you stay with me and we'll attack from the right; Ron, you and Charlie – you're OK to fight, right? – good, you two be ready to go left." Harry took a deep breath and counted to three, before leaping up and taking aim at the beast.

He got off three spells – two Reductor curses aimed at the Graphorn and one Stunner at a Death Eater – before ducking back behind the wall.

He could hear the others had following his lead; but he was thinking about the brief glimpse he'd just had of the battlefield – for that's what the Burrow had become. Through the smoke and dust, he saw that the Death Eaters had used their advantage well, breaking the Weasleys into smaller, more containable bunches.

He'd spotted at least two other concentrations of red hair, and they seemed to be holding back the attackers. But there were strays, separated from any of the main groups, that were pinned down. His heart had nearly skipped a beat as he'd realized one of those strays had long red hair.

But the sound of something impacting with their wall forced him to push his concern for Ginny aside. The attacks on their barricade were getting fiercer – he and Fred were both working to keep it repaired now – and Harry wondered if he'd been recognized. At this rate, they would lose their make-shift shield in no time.

"Guys … any thoughts," he asked, hoping one of them had an idea, as he was fresh out of them.

"This is not good," Charlie understated. "That hide's nastier than a dragon's, 'cause my spells aren't having any effect at all."

"Dragons … hold on, I've got an idea," Ron said. "Remember the first task – the dragons – and how Vicky went for its eyes? Why don't we try that?"

The suggestion took Harry totally by surprise. He looked to Charlie, who had no ideas of his own so he merely shrugged. "Right then. This time, Ron, Charlie and I aim for the eyes, Fred you cover us. On three!"

Four bodies popped back up and shouted their spells, and at least one of them hit its mark. The Graphorn began to screech as it jumped and pranced in place. It shook its head violently, catching its handler with one of its sword-like horns. The man dropped to the ground clutching his punctured shoulder.

That proved to be a mistake as the beast jumped again, kicking the handler and knocking him over. Before the unlucky man could pick himself up, the Graphorn landed with one of its front legs dead center on the handler's chest. The sickening crunch confirmed that one Death Eater was no more.

For Harry, time had slowed as he watched that leg come down, but he snapped out of his stupor when he felt his arm heating up. Ducking back behind the barricade, he patted his smoldering robe. He wasn't sure what the spell had been, but honestly, he didn't really care as long as he wasn't hurt. Another hand joined his in the effort, and Harry looked up to find Hermione by his side. She must have joined in at some point during their last offense.

In hind sight, attacking the eyes wasn't the right move. They hadn't managed to subdue the creature, only enrage it. And it knew where the attack had come from, judging by the ominous shaking of their safety wall. The five scrambled backward in the nick of time, for the Graphorn's head swung sideways into the wall, causing large chunks to break off, although the majority of the structure held.

Harry was quick to his feet as he resumed the attack. He heard others join in, but was singularly focused on his task, so he wasn't sure who was doing what. All he was sure of was that their attack wasn't stopping the rampaging rhino-wanna-be, and his 'Sectumsempra' had barely scratched it.

He heard a nearby voice shouting "Protego", so he knew someone still had his back. A moment later he felt someone brush against his arm, and glanced over to see Ron by his side. His friend was trying his best to act confident, but Harry could tell he was terrified.

Ron must have sensed he had Harry's attention, because he loudly complained, "I don't get it. You took out a basilisk when you were twelve. Why haven't you finished this already?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry cracked a smile. He was about to reply something about knocking out trolls when a rumbling sensation grabbed his attention. A large portion of their wall was now rubble, leaving Fred and Charlie completely open.

The Graphorn charged, and Fred screamed as he was bodily lifted from the ground; the horn at the beast's nostrils was buried in his hip. Not liking the sudden weight on its horn, the animal began to shake its head.

"Hold on," Hermione screamed, but Fred hadn't needed to be told. He'd instinctively grabbed the other horn with both hands to keep himself from being impaled by it as well. It was a lucky move, because the grip gave him the stability he needed to keep his hip from being torn apart as the Graphorn continued to try to shake him off.

Ron and Charlie both sprung up to their brother's rescue, trying to pull him off the horn without doing more damage. Harry wanted to help, but decided his efforts were best spent shielding his friends from human attack. Fortunately, after seeing what the beast had done to its handler, the Death Eaters were keeping their distance from the rampaging animal, so it was an easy task.

Charlie shouted "got him" as he managed to lift his brother off the horn. He applied a hasty clotting spell and carefully lowered Fred to the ground. Harry and Hermione continued to trade spells with one of the Death Eaters while Ron turned his attention to trying to transfigure another wall for protection. His wall, though not as tall or sturdy as Harry's, afforded them the chance to catch their breath, and Harry used the time to chide Ron for his earlier joke.

"Don't remember you being much help wh—," he trailed off, an idea blossoming in his mind.

****end chapter****

**Notes:** Now – show of hands – did anyone out there _not _expect an attack of some kind?


	13. Battle for the Burrow

In an Alternate Universe, I might own Harry Potter. But in that universe, Harry Potter is probably the nerdy kid with bad acne who picks wax out of his ear at the dinner table, so maybe we don't really want to go there. Let's stick with this universe, shall we?

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**Chapter 13. Battle for the Burrow**

_**warning: scenes of violence so intense men will be cringing and crossing their legs reflexively. Oh, and other bloody stuff, too.**_

Behind Ron's hastily conjured wall, Harry was preparing to quite possibly make a fool of himself. And maybe get himself killed besides. But Ron had unknowingly given him an idea, something that was in short supply at the moment.

On the opposite side of the structure, the Graphorn stupidly continued its attack on the wall. Hermione had been quick to point out that the beast wasn't smart enough to realize that the wall kept rebuilding itself, so it would continue to bang away until it got through or forgot its purpose. It would never think to try going around the wall on its own, and with its handler dead, there was no one to direct it.

Harry briefly glanced over to Charlie, who was trying to further slow Fred's bleeding. Ron had appointed himself Defender, and he was popping around the wall at random intervals to watch for Death Eaters. Hermione was concentrating on reforming their wall as parts crumbled. "We stay safe, and Dumbo there keeps busy," she'd explained.

In an odd way, her thoughtfulness bolstered his confidence – it helped just knowing his best friends were right there beside him. After all, at least one of them always seemed to come along for the ride when he was about to do something crazy, and it _usually_ turned out alright.

'_No better time than the present.'_ Harry started waving his wand when a string of profanity from Charlie drew his attention back to the brothers. A puddle of dark brown was spreading out from under a pale Fred. An argument quickly started – Charlie wanted to take Fred to St. Mungo's, but Ron thought he should do it. With a sharp jerk of her head, Hermione indicated for Harry to handle it; she listened in as she worked her magic fighting the invaders.

Harry knew they had the right idea – Fred needed more help than any of them could give. Getting him away should be simple enough … once they got him outside that fence. The invaders had probably thought it worked to their advantage because all the additional protective spells for the area were directly tied to that fence. It kept the Weasleys from Apparating to safety. But it was also only three feet tall, meaning it could easily be stepped over. After all, it was designed to keep people out, not in.

"Charlie, you're hurt yourself," Harry shouted to the older Weasley, then paused as he deflected a curse that was meant for the red heads. "You'd never be able to take him along. And no offense Ron, but Hermione is better at Apparating."

"None taken. I want to save Fred … not lose half of him along the way!" Ron shouted back, himself busy dodging an incoming jet of red.

"Good. Hermione, you take Fred – get over that stupid fence and get him to Mungo's. Ron and Charlie, you provide cover. I'm going after that Graphorn." Everyone must have agreed; either that, or they saw arguing would be pointless. Ron did give Harry a questioning glance, but Harry shrugged him off. "I know what I'm doing … and my plans always work," he insisted.

Ron wisely accepted the statement, though he doubted either part was true. A heavy knock on their wall got Ron refocused on the task at hand. Meanwhile, Hermione had traded places with Charlie, and had Disillusioned herself and Fred.

Harry didn't have the luxury of watching the escape – not that there would be much to actually see – but hearing the loud pop of Side-Along Apparition, he knew they'd made it safely away. Taking a deep steadying breath, Harry held his wand loosely in his hand, and pointed its tip at his other hand as he swirled it around and concentrated with all his might. This had worked once before – this strange combination of summoning and conjuring – so he hoped it would work again.

To his joy (and surprise, if truth be told), a ragged old hat appeared in his formerly empty hand. Not taking the time to question his luck, he tucked his wand away and shoved his hand into the hat only to instantly pull it out again, the gleaming silver sword of Gryffindor reflecting the sunlight.

And not a moment too soon – for no sooner had he dropped the Sorting Hat so he could grasp the sword with both hands – than the Graphorn reared up on its hind legs, and came crashing down, completely wiping out their protective wall. Stray rocks pelted Harry's legs and feet, but he ignored that as he moved into attack position.

The sword felt different in his hands; but then, he'd grown a bit since he was twelve. Figuring the Graphorn must be similar to a dragon, Harry's plan was simple: aim for the belly, aim for the eyes, aim for the mouth – all the soft spots. And pray its teeth weren't venomous. He swished the blade a few times, trying to get the feel for it as he watched the creature. Now that it had achieved its objective, it appeared to be unsure of which of the three to go after.

Beyond this little group, the fighting continued as the rest of the Weasleys and Death Eaters were too involved in their own battles to pay him any attention. They were missing an awesome sight: a teenage boy, of just average size, wielding a sword like a mythical knight as he stood his ground against a terror that had already trampled a fully-grown man.

A flash of sunlight reflecting off the sword drew the Graphorn's attention, and it snorted and pawed the ground as it chose its new target. Far faster than Harry expected it charged, and he barely side-stepped the animal as he stabbed at its mouth, a move that had worked on the basilisk. But the blade missed its mark, instead deflecting harmlessly off the beast's lower jaw.

Undeterred, Harry spun quickly, stabbing at the beast's left buttock as it charged past. The blade barely scratched the rubbery skin, but its mark must have been felt. The Graphorn abruptly stopped and kicked its two hind legs back – much like a wild horse would do – in an attempt to find its attacker, and Harry stumbled backward to avoid the flying feet. Off balance, he fell to the ground and – seeing those feet bucking again – he rolled, managing to hang onto the sword as he tried to get away.

The move saved him from being flattened; he'd ended up behind and slightly to the right of the Graphorn. Taking stock of his position, he was surprised to find that he was now perfectly placed to strike its tender underside.

By this time, the confused monster had stopped its attack as it tried to find its missing prey, sniffing the air and rolling its head side-to-side. Luckily, because of the boney frill surrounding its head, the Graphorn couldn't see over its shoulder, leaving Harry in its blind spot.

He slowly crawled closer, until he was lying underneath the belly of the beast. Carefully – for any noise at this point might get him trampled – he rolled onto his back and inched himself into place. To give himself some leverage, he bent his knees and pushed his feet flat on the ground. With the precision one might use to diffuse a bomb, he lifted the sword above himself and grasped it firmly with both hands. He lunged the sword up … but his hands seemed to have a mind of their own, and without stopping to consider what he was doing, he altered its course. Meeting its target, the sword's pointed, poisoned blade sank into the most sensitive bits on the beast.

No living thing – be it being or beast –could ignore a strike like that. Enraged and in pain, the Graphorn let out a shriek to rival a banshee as it bucked its hind legs, giving Harry precious seconds to move out from underneath. When its legs came back down they buckled and it collapsed to its side, its bulk landing in the space Harry had just vacated. In obvious agony, it thrashed around, its four massive legs making sporadic, clumsy kicking motions as blood spurted from its wound.

One of the flaying feet caught Harry in the ribs as he was climbing to his knees, knocking him over, but he quickly pushed himself back up. Wiping its blood from his face, he forced the pain away and swung the blade again, finally aiming for its gut. A primal cry burst from his lips – a combination of pain and exertion – as he put all his strength into slitting the beast open. The sword pierced the skin, sliding in until about a third of its blade was inside, and then moved forward as Harry forced it toward the beast's head.

Desperate to get away from this new pain, but unable rise, the Graphorn cried out in a high-pitched, ear splitting voice that was, quite honestly, making Harry's head ache. It was also still trying to kick at its attacker – or maybe that was just the result of muscle spasms – but the kicks grew weaker and weaker as more and more blood flowed across the grass.

Blocking everything else out, Harry continued to force the blade forward until it struck bone and stopped. With a mighty tug, he freed the sword from the animal's belly, tumbling backward in the process.

It wasn't dead yet. Its legs were still flaying, its chest still heaved – although that was steadily slowing its pace – and it was still making pitiful grunting noises. But for Harry, the battle was over. He sincerely hoped Charlie knew some way to put the thing out of its misery, for he needed a moment to catch his breath.

As it turned out, he never got the chance to ask. From behind him came two powerful curses, banishing the body of the dying monster in the general direction of two of the Death Eaters. Harry was still on his knees, rubbing his bruised ribs and panting heavily, when Ron came up behind him and helped him stand.

Turning to his friend, as casually as he could manage, he said, "You ... were right … much easier ... than a basilisk."

Flying carcasses, it turns out, are a perfect distraction. It gave the three of them the break they needed to rejoin the family – or at least a large chunk of it. Ron reached the others first – being the only uninjured one in his group allowed him to move faster – and he immediately went to his mother's side.

Harry ended up near Percy, and he dropped the bloody sword as he bent over to catch his breath. Bill appeared from somewhere, and tapped Harry's chest with his wand, somehow numbing his sore ribs. He quickly brought the newcomers up to speed as he looked over his brothers.

As Harry had already noticed, the family had been divided into three main factions; Harry's group being one of them.

The second group had consisted of Arthur, Molly, George, and Remus – although that one had splintered away as soon as he'd recognized Pettigrew. Molly's injury during the initial volley had been minor. She'd been hit by debris from a Blasting Curse, leaving her unable to move her wand arm, but she was trying her best with her other hand. Other than bumps and scratches, the others were fine.

The third group had included Bill, Fleur, Hermione, and Percy; at least until Hermione had defected to aid Harry and Ron. They too had been mostly injury-free, perhaps because they had been the best protected of the three groups, having ended up furthest from the invaders. At some point while Harry had been fighting the Graphorn, the other two groups had merged, and with the new arrivals, the bulk of the Weasley clan was banded together right where they had started, under the wedding tent.

But there were stragglers … those who were unable to get back to the main group. Like Diggle, who had gone down in the initial attack and had yet to get up – despite throwing a fair number of curses from his place on the ground. Or Ginny, who was hunkered down behind a large tree, defending an injured Auntie Muriel. And near the house, separated from the others by two Death Eaters, was George's fiancée Angelina.

Penelope Clearwater, Bill quietly explained, was fighting for the other side – news Percy had not taken well. The Weasley side was also down two other combatants, as Hermione had left with Fred. So far, they were the only ones to leave.

On the plus side, someone (Hermione, Harry suspected) had taken out one of the unidentified Death Eaters with the Tyson Obdomio spell – that lucky bastard would probably miss the rest of the fight. With the beast and its handler both dead, that left only four fighting Death Eaters – the three in masks plus Penelope (who had to be counted as one of them, after all) – but those four were uninjured and well protected.

Arthur immediately took charge, and Harry was only too happy to follow his lead. Taking out a few Death Eaters would be all well and good, but their main goal was to get everyone out of the yard and Apparated to safety. His reasoning was simple – their side had injured people that needed to be protected, but the other side had no such loyalty to each other. That willingness to sacrifice their own trumped the Weasleys' advantage in numbers.

Harry was sure there was more to the plan, but he'd tuned out so he could make some plans of his own – if Arthur expected him to stand back and trust someone else to save Ginny, he was sadly mistaken. Pulling his wand, he mentally reviewed which spells he wanted to use.

Nearby, Arthur was explaining that serious injuries should head for St. Mungo's, but everyone else should go to Headquarters. He cleared his voice significantly, and nodded to Harry when he had the boy's attention. In silent understanding, Harry hastily motioned Charlie and Percy over. Pulling their heads close to be certain they could hear, gave them the needed address.

He didn't give them a chance to question the knowledge, because as soon as he was done speaking, he grabbed the closest arm – which turned out to be Percy's – and started toward Ginny and Aunt Muriel. Artfully dodging some nasty cutting curses, they quickly found themselves joining the ladies behind the tree.

Using all his self-control, Harry refrained from grabbing Ginny into his arms as soon as he'd reached her side. Instead, he continued firing spells while Percy knelt and checked the women. It was easy to see that the Muriel's wound, while not critical, was seriously in need of medical attention. Ignoring her loud protests – "I'll not be treated like newborn hippogriff, young man" – Percy gently lifted his aunt, cradling her as he would a child. In a remarkable show of trust, he turned from Harry and sprinted back to the family; not slowed in the least by his burden, no doubt thanks to a feather-light spell. Harry and Ginny worked together casting and deflecting as they made their way back to the relative safety of the tent.

Still yards away from their destination, a sudden motion off to his right caught Harry's attention, and he looked over just in time to see Penelope send the Cruciatus Curse flying toward Ginny. "WATCH IT!"

Hearing his cry, Ginny immediately hopped to the side, but lost her footing in the process and landed painfully on her right side. Harry was quick to pull her to her feet, but the damage was already done. Her wrist had twisted and was quite possibly broken, but far worse was the damage to her wand, which was snapped cleanly in two.

"Come on … we'll worry about that later," Harry urged. He gave her arm a reassuring rub before giving her a light shove toward the tent.

She took the hint, and took off toward her family. Harry, meanwhile, stood his ground as he tried to find the witch that had _dared_ to attack his Ginny. When he'd first realized Penelope had let the Death Eaters in, he'd suspected the Imperious Curse. But to use that curse ... well, now he wasn't so sure. It didn't matter though. Either way, he planned on taking her out of the battle. He just needed to find her! She wasn't standing over by the rosebush any more … the porch was clear … so was the Graphorn carcass … but _there_ - right near Angelina!

George's lady love noticed the new arrival just as Harry did. Angelina, Harry could see, wasn't pleased with the former Ravenclaw. She turned and said something to other girl, then without warning pulled back her fist and punched the traitor in the gut. Penelope dropped to her knees, doubled over, and Angelina – perhaps because she wasn't battle worn, or maybe because she was normally a caring person – bent forward to check on her.

But a strange thing was happening to Penelope now … Angelina didn't know what to make of it … Penelope was shaking and groaning … and Angelina stood frozen, not understanding what was happening. But Harry understood. He'd figured it out a split second before Penelope's curly hair grew straighter and darker.

His mouth was suddenly too dry; he couldn't yell out a warning. And then it was too late … and looking up at Angelina was – not the face of Percy's friendly, caring girlfriend – no, it was the smirking face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her new appearance took Angelina by surprise, and Bellatrix used her advantage to strike. She hopped up and grabbed Angelina in one fluid movement, spinning the dark girl's body as she yanked her close, so that Angelina's back was to Bella's front, her arm tucked under Angelina's chin as it tightly circled her neck.

"We want the little Potter boy," she shouted to no one in particular, and if he hadn't known better, Harry would have thought she was looking for a wayward toddler. "Just give us the boy and the rest of you blood traitors will be left alone."

Percy's enraged "GO TO HELL!" drowned out whatever Arthur, Ron, and even Bill had tried to respond. Bellatrix cackled; a shrill noise that befitted her insanity, before she tightened her hold on Angelina's throat and shouted "say bye-bye".

Before it had even registered what she meant, she had brought her free arm up and thrust a dagger into Angelina's gut. She twisted the dagger viciously before jerking it sideways, so that it tore the girl's abdomen wide open.

It had happened in a flash – nobody could have possibly stopped it. The second the dagger met her flesh, Angelina screamed – a thunderous cry full of pain and terror that nearly took Harry's breath away in its intensity. And then, before he could even comprehend what was happening, it stopped.

Bella dropped Angelina's limp, bloody body to the ground, the dagger still sticking out of her belly. In one fluid movement, Bella turned toward Harry and drew her wand.

Not waiting to see what she had planned, Harry dove for the tent, tossing a quick stunner (which missed its mark) at the witch.

Quickly glancing around, Harry could tell Angelina's murder had shocked everyone. Some, like Molly, felt it was time to leave. Others, most notably Charlie, wanted to fight back with everything they had. Moving next to Ginny, Harry watched the one person who didn't voice an opinion – George, who just looked lost.

Unbidden, images flashed in Harry's mind – of Sirius falling through the veil – and Remus grabbing him, but not tight enough – and facing _her_, alone in the atrium. He'd been desperate when that same Witch had killed Sirius, and he knew the best thing they could do was get George out of the area and away from Bellatrix as soon as possible.

Arthur Weasley disagreed. "Right then, Weasleys," he commanded. "It's time to get us out of here. First group out … Percy, you'll take Muriel … head straight for hospital. Molly, you'll help Fleur get to Headquarters. The rest of you … provide cover. Bill, you and I have a job to do." He didn't explain what that was, but Bill nodded his agreement just the same. "On three…"

The first two made it off without a hitch. The second duo, not so much. Molly couldn't really fight effectively with the wrong arm, but she refused to let Fleur risk their first grandchild, and therefore kept pushing Fleur in front of her as they ran away. Unfortunately, that put Molly's body between the Death Eaters and the only working wand the two had. It didn't look like they would make it.

Harry made a split-second decision. He shoved his trusted holly wand into Ginny's hand, pecked her cheek goodbye, and pushed her toward George. "She's all yours mate – get her out of here for me."

Ginny turned to Harry in disbelief, glaring into his eyes, and in that brief second she understood. She flicked the strange wand once, just to get the feel of it; she'd probably need to get off a few defensive spells. "Alright George," she said, "let's go get our niece to safety." Giving her brother a higher purpose should be enough to keep him from doing anything stupid.

Harry watched the two long enough to see them make it to the fence, then turned back to rejoin the fight. He reached into his pocket and grabbed … air. With sickening clarity, he remembered setting his spare wand on his desk, in his bedroom at the cottage, during his rush to pack. And leaving it there. Needing something to fight with – he wasn't about to leave until everyone else was safe – and having nothing to lose, he held out his empty hand and shouted, "_Accio wand_!" In seconds, Fred's forgotten wand flew into his hand, well ahead of two others that bounced off his arm. It felt lighter than his own, but it would have to do.

By this point, the Death Eaters had figured out their escape plan, and they'd stepped up their offense in response. Their curses were growing darker as the fight wore on, and Harry feared that sooner or later they would start hitting their marks.

No sooner had the thought popped into his mind than Charlie fell to the ground screaming in agony, a victim of the Cruciatus Curse. Reacting on instinct, Harry waved the borrowed wand, sending the nearest object (a forgotten chair) flying toward the attacker. The chair flew alright, just not quite where it was supposed to. It missed the Death Eater's wand hand, which is where he'd aimed; instead, it hit the man in the shoulder – not hard enough to injure him, but hard enough to garner his attention. The spell broke contact with its victim as the Death Eater turned to find the source of the attack.

"Potter," he practically spat, his voice identifying him as Lucius Malfoy, "this should be fun." He thrust his wand toward the boy and shouted the painful curse again, but Harry's training with Albus kicked in and he dodged left as he tried to throw his own curse back at the blonde. But this time the wand didn't want to react; to Harry it felt as if he was trying to push his spell though a wall of ice. Instead of causing Malfoy's body to freeze up, the spell only tickled him.

"Is that really the best you can do?" he called out. "My Draco could curse better than that when he was still in nappies." So busy was he taunting the boy, Malfoy very nearly missed the bright orange spell that was speeding toward him. With no time for a shield, he leapt to the side in an attempt to avoid the unknown spell.

It didn't do him any good, for the spell hadn't truly been aimed at him. It hit its target – the patch of earth directly in front of where Malfoy had stood – exploding like a Muggle hand grenade on impact. Malfoy, who after all was only trying to avoid a simple stream of magic, hadn't moved far enough. He was caught in the blast zone, his body tossed high into the air, only to slam back into the ground in perfect imitation of a rag doll.

Dirt and rocks also went airborne, leaving a crater in the garden. But like Malfoy, they eventually lost their momentum, raining down on the immediate area. Everything in the area was coated in filth, and Malfoy, who hadn't moved since he'd slammed into the earth, was nearly buried.

"A little something we use at the preserve," Charlie explained as he pulled Harry back toward what was left of the family. Other than the two of them, only Ron, Arthur, Bill and Remus remained standing, although Charlie moved as if his injuries were starting to catch up with him. They also still had Diggle, who was still fighting from his place on the ground. The old man had refused Bill's help earlier, claiming he knew he was 'done for' and would rather do his part to save the rest than waste someone's time trying to save him. Everyone else on their side had already left – whether in body or in spirit.

Unfortunately, it didn't take a math genius to see that the Death Eaters, who had started with few in number, hadn't lost as many, significantly leveling the odds. Only their Graphorn and its keeper were permanently out of the fight, although two other men – Malfoy one of them – were currently out cold on the ground, and it was hard to say if or when they would rejoin the fight. But still fighting, and worse, virtually unharmed, were Bella, Peter the Rat, and the other masked Death Eater, whose identity was still unknown.

It was this mystery Death Eater that sprung forward and began pelting curses at Harry – and only Harry. Confringo, Crucio, Sectumsempra, even Petrificus Totalus was coming his way; and with a wonky wand, he was forced to dodge and jump instead of try to fight back. Luckily Ron had his back, and Diggle was able to get a few more curses in, allowing for Harry to get some distance between himself and the man.

In his haste to get away, Harry stumbled right into the path of Remus and Peter, neither of whom seemed to notice, so intent were they on each other. Both were bleeding from various places, and Peter was limping. It was clear these two planned on finishing what they'd started that night in the Shrieking Shack, and Harry had no intention of stopping it this time.

The two former friends had moved to the center of the battlefield, and the others couldn't help but watch, even as they continued their own battles. At first it seemed a draw – Remus may have been the better fighter, but Peter was willing to use dark curses that Remus wouldn't. But Remus hadn't been made Defense Professor on a whim, and as Peter cast his next curse, Remus conjured a bowl-shaped mirror, which caught the incoming spell and sent it shooting back at its caster. The force of the ricochet blew Remus backward, where his head met a wooden chair with a loud knock.

As his own curse came barreling back, Peter stood frozen in terror. Instead of calling up a shield, or even dodging away, he stared wide-eyed as the light came back, wincing as he was enveloped in a dull brown light. Wormtail shrieked as the light dissolved, dropping his wand unnoticed. Glancing from Remus – who was climbing to his knees – to Harry – who looked like he might join the fight, Peter abruptly turned tail and ran to the still open gate. Harry was already moving to Moony when he heard Wormtail shout something about back up, followed by Bellatrix cursing the coward for fleeing.

Everyone on the Weasley side knew that it as time to cut and run. As Arthur passed by, he called out, "you're next Harry – take Remus and get out of here."

He didn't want to – he felt he should stay and fight to the end, as irrational as that thought was – but one stern look from his future father-in-law convinced Harry to agree. After helping Remus to stand on shaky legs, they retreated toward the tent, where they could pass over the fence under its cover. He slowed to retrieve the sword, only to find nothing but a bloody outline on the ground.

Ron saw him searching, and shrugged helplessly as he prepared to defend their escape. He stepped close and wished Harry luck, and was just turning away when he spotted a curse flying toward his best friend, curtsey of a revived Malfoy. Without thinking, he jerked Harry to the side, unknowingly placing himself in its path. The jet of light contacted in his groin area and he doubled over in pain, shamelessly rubbing himself in an attempt to alleviate the biting sting.

Harry winced as he watched his friend. "Ron, go with Remus. I'll cover." When it looked like Ron was going to argue, he dropped his voice and added, "Mate … you look like you're about to spew. Go – get outa here, and get yourself some ice."

None of the other adults had seen it happen, but there wasn't time for any to question as Ron – instead of Harry – climbed over the fence with Remus and disappeared.

The unusually loud sound of their Disapparation drew everyone's attention, and for a split second the fighting stopped and the yard grew silent. Three Death Eaters remained standing against five Order members. Malfoy, Diggle and to a lesser degree Charlie were all injured but still fighting, and Harry (whose own injury was still numb) and Bella were both using uncooperative wands – Harry because his belonged to Fred, Bella because of Harry's curse last May, not that she realized that.

Harry, from his place near the wedding tent, looked toward the house, taking in the sights. Ahead of him on the ground sat Dedalus Diggle, who had managed to pull himself into a sitting position by leaning on an overturned chair. He'd also found his top hat, which was perched in its rightful place on his head, giving him a comically formal appearance. But the dirt and blood that coated his robes, not to mention the pasty skin and bloodshot eyes, rather broke that illusion.

Beyond Diggle, the others were scattered amongst the dead bodies, broken furniture, and trampled decorations – only Arthur and Charlie were close together, everyone else was pretty much on their own.

A shout of "Harry – GO!" shattered the silence, startling Harry into once again moving toward the fence.

A spell went sailing over Harry's shoulder, striking one of the flutterby bushes Molly had insisted be planted next to the fence. Instantly, it grew to more than four times its size, spreading up and out in all directions. Its green, flowered branches, which before had been gently swaying in the sun, were now snapping viciously back and forth. As one particularly thick vine reached toward him, Harry turned and ran … toward Charlie, who was using the pulpy remains of the Graphorn as a bunker.

Just as he reached Charlie's side, the unknown Death Eater growled in frustration, tossing off his mask. He looked directly at Harry, a cruel smile on his slightly familiar face. Spitting on the ground, purely to show his opinion of the Burrow, he turned toward Arthur and spoke. "Last chance Weasley. Just give us Potter. You know the half-blood's as good as dead anyway, why risk yourselves for him? You'll not get away otherwise."

He might have had a point there. That one little flutterby bush had continued to grow, snaking its way along the entire fence. In fact, the only place it didn't cover was the stretch over the drive, which was also the one place where the fence was too tall to easily hurdle. But … it also left the gate untouched, leaving them an easy way out.

"Surely you can't care that much for the half-blood," the Death Eater called out, his face twisted in contempt. And now Harry could place that snarling face. This was Nott, he realized, now that he could see the resemblance his Slytherin classmate. Harry could still remember how the man had groveled at Voldemort's rebirth; how he'd fought at the Department of Mysteries. Nott was definitely one of Voldemort's long-time Death Eaters, and right then, Harry wanted nothing more than to take him down. But instead of giving in to his instincts, and attacking the man, Harry concentrated on helping the Weasleys.

No one bothered to respond to the man's goading. At least not verbally; they let their spells speak for them. As the fighting intensified, the Death Eaters finally began to work together, attempting to corral the others away from the gate so they couldn't escape. Bella in particular had become vicious, having discovered that for her the Gouging Spell behaved more like the Reductor Curse. Everyone – even her disgruntled compatriots – found themselves jumping in lively dance as they dodged her curses. Pieces of forgotten tables, bloody chunks of Graphorn guts, branches, leaves, and even bits of an unlucky garden gnome were pelting down on them.

The Weasley group eventually found themselves clustered near where Harry had begun the battle – in front of the rubble that had once been his protective wall. Always the father, Arthur insisted that Charlie and Harry get themselves to safety _now_. He assured them that he and Bill would only stay long enough to seal the house before following – an important step because in addition to all their worldly possessions, there were sensitive Order documents inside.

From his seat on the ground, Diggle insisted that he had enough left in him to provide cover for the last two, and Arthur accepted the offer without comment. It _was_ rather obvious by the gaping hole in his abdomen that the man wasn't long for this world. Harry wondered how he'd managed to hang on for so long, when clearly he should've expired long ago, though he suspected Albus would say it was magic.

Harry and Charlie had almost made it to the gate when a loud groan caught their attention. They froze in shock as they watched Dedalus Diggle rising from the ground to stand proud in what had been his finest robes, his wand held steadily out. How he got the strength to stand was anybody's guess, but stand he did. His loud battle cry drew the Death Eater's attention – and their fire. He managed to fire a couple spells before being cut down by the force of three spells slamming into him nearly simultaneously. Harry suspected the eccentric old man was dead before his body even hit the ground.

Watching Diggle's falling corpse, Harry nearly missed what occurred on the other side of the yard. Diggle's final spell had hit its mark, and a screaming Lucius Malfoy dropped to the ground, his left arm no longer attached to the rest of him.

Harry cringed, unconsciously feeling his own left arm. "We're clear … let's go," Charlie urged, pushing on Harry's shoulder to force him to move, but Harry didn't budge.

Something wasn't right. There should still be _someone_ trying to stop them – stop him. _'Hadn't they just demanded my surrender?'_ So where were the other Death Eaters? Slapping away Charlie's hand, Harry scanned the area. He spotted Nott near the house engaged in battle with Arthur. Behind them, Harry could just make out Bill, who was the midst of magically sealing the house.

But where was Bella? Not by the house … the tent was clear … there – kneeling on the ground near a dead body … no, not a dead body – an unconscious body! She was helping him stand now – a mean looking man hanging on Bella for support, but tightly grasping his wand. Harry recognized him as another of the combatants from the Ministry Melee; Jugson he thought.

This had to be the invader that Hermione had taken out in the opening volley, using the spell that knocks a person out for thirty minutes. _'Had it been that long already?'_ Now that he was awake, he'd still be confused for a while, but that didn't mean he couldn't fight. In fact, in Harry's opinion, that made him more dangerous. Not only was his aim was sure to be off, but odds were he'd forgotten he wasn't to use the Killing Curse.

Harry and Charlie made a silent agreement, and despite the fact that Charlie was moving a bit slow now, they made their way back to help the other two. Even as Harry considered how best to help the others, a part of him was awed by the magical display in front of him.

Bill was in the final stages of an ancient Egyptian spell that would literally seal the house. Before him, the Burrow looked like it was enveloped by a giant purple balloon which completely surrounding the lopsided structure. It hummed and pulsed for a few seconds before rapidly deflating – making a slurping sound as it constricted tightly around the house, leaving it completely enclosed in a skin of purple rubber that faded into the background much like a Disillusionment Charm would do. Seeing the spell settle, Harry could easily believe that no one and nothing would get into or out of the house until it was unsealed.

Charlie caught Harry's attention, and the two of them snuck up on the three Death Eaters, who were advancing on Arthur and Bill. Arthur spotted them and nodded once, and in unison all four opened fire. In an ironic twist, the Weasley clan now had the Death Eaters surrounded – Harry and Charlie behind them and Arthur and Bill in front. With spells coming from both directions, the Death Eaters found themselves on the defense for the first time.

Charlie was using his spells to push the wicked trio back, craftily herding them out of the way so his dad and brother could get to the gate. Momentum had finally swung their way, and not a moment to soon. Bill was wiped out from using the powerful spell; he kept stopping to catch his breath, but he was still able to shield his father, who kept shouting "is that the best you can do?" every time a Death Eater's spell missed him.

Somehow, in their shuffle to the gate, the group had twisted around so it was actually Arthur and Bill who reached the gate first. Instead of passing through, they turned and held their ground. "Get your arses over here," Bill demanded.

Charlie and Harry were only too glad to comply, and they quickly covered the short distance to the gate. Harry was about to pass through when loud barking caught his attention.

Norbert had busted free from the broom shed he'd been stashed in for the wedding, and was zigzagging around the torn up yard. Charlie turned and called the puppy, oblivious to Jugson the Death Eater. Having spent most of the battle unconscious, the man must have felt he had some catching up to do – he aimed at Charlie and shouted the Killing Curse.

Not _that_ confident with the borrowed wand, Harry ran straight at Charlie and physically rammed him, throwing the two of them – and the excited dog they tripped over – onto the ground. Arthur stood firm and pelted Jugson with curses, finally dropping him with a well-aimed Knee-knocker Curse. Bill, meanwhile, had doubled back and pulled Harry to his feet, yanking his near-brother behind him as he knocked out Nott with a particularly strong spell. Unfortunately, a loud series of pops from the other side of the house told Harry that the long-awaited reinforcements had arrived.

Wasting no time, Arthur blasted the gate and its surrounding fence to smithereens and the four stumbled out of the battle zone. Bill latched onto Charlie at the same time that Norbert jumped into Harry's arms. Two seconds later the four tired fighters, plus one happy dog, Disapparated; several nasty spells passing harmlessly through the air where they had stood.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes from battle: **First, a huge thanks to the HP Lexicon. Without them, the Death Eaters would have brought a mountain troll, which wouldn't have been nearly as fun!

Also, the fence was designed to keep people out, not in, so it was easy to climb over _from the inside_. My guess is when the DE arrived they didn't think to set any containment spells of their own; they incorrectly assumed the fence would hold everyone in.

Wand sequence - Harry gives his holly wand to Ginny, _then_ realizes he doesn't have his spare, _then_ he summons one. Fred's wand responded the quickest to Harry's summons, kinda like it didn't mind going to him. Think Neville with his dad's wand – it wasn't a _bad_ fit, just not a perfect fit.

Knee-knocker curse - glues a persons knees together. Kinda hard to stand, let alone fight, with your legs stuck together that way.

The reinforcements took so long because Wormtail (selfish coward that he is) took care of himself before he rounded up help.

Hope that answered any stray questions about the battle. If it didn't, feel free to ask.


	14. Confessions of a Teenage Secret Keeper

Today's disclaimer is in memory of Sturgis "I'm wearing red today" Podmore:

_Dammit Jim, I'm a fanfiction writer, not a published novelist!_

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**Chapter 14. Confessions of a Teenage Secret Keeper**

In a gloomy part of London three people appeared at the front door of a dreary, forbidding house known as Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. They looked at each other, all covered in dust and blood, and sporting various cuts and bruises; the smallest of the bunch clutching a squirming dog that seemed to be trying to climb onto his shoulders. Charlie was the first to crack, laughing at the sight of the overgrown puppy nearly toppling the teen in its fear – Norbert had _not_ enjoyed Apparition. The other two joined in - the spontaneity of the laughter releasing their built-up tension. Between laughs, Harry eased the mutt onto the ground and Norbert sat expectantly at his side, happy to stay put while Harry rubbed his head.

Finally, Charlie caught his breath enough to observe, "You seem to have a habit of giving Wealeys pets named Norbert, Harry. This one doesn't breathe fire, does it?"

Bill just shook his head as he laughed, giving Harry the feeling the older boy knew all about Norbert the First. "Yeah, well, you can thank Hagrid again," he explained. "This one came from him, too." Laughing at an old memory, he added, "at least he didn't bite Ron first."

"At least he's really a he," the other replied. As the laughter died down, Charlie took in his surroundings, from the rundown neighborhood to the sinister-looking house. "So tell me about this place. I mean, how did the Order end up with such a spooky dump for its headquarters?"

Bill hid his laugh in a coughing fit as Harry replied, "Thanks … I was actually thinking about painting it a nice, warm red, but I was afraid it would make the neighbors jealous."

Charlie turned red as he realized his error. "Er, this is your place, is it?"

Harry took pity on him and explained, "Yeah, but I only inherited the place. It actually sat empty for a few years, what with its rightful owner in Azkaban and all."

Charlie didn't know how to reply once he'd realized how Harry came to own the house – his mother had gone on and on about the poor dear losing his Godfather, after all – but he was saved by the front door whipping open. Ginny came barreling out the door, throwing herself into Harry's arms. Fleur was right behind, and her welcome to her husband was even more enthusiastic. A moment later, Molly stuck her head out the door to tell them all to get their selves inside the safety of the house. Bill and Fleur were the first inside, and he let his mother know that an un-injured Arthur had headed straight for St. Mungo's to check on the others.

Once inside, the newcomers were ushered into the kitchen, where most everyone else was anxiously awaiting their missing family members. Harry dropped into the nearest available chair and Ginny took up residence on his lap, his arm sliding comfortably around her waist. Hermione was seated next to them, and she explained that Percy had sent her over from St. Mungo's, where he was watching over Fred and Muriel. Ron and George, she added, were upstairs ... supposedly cleaning up.

Apparently, George had been so overwrought after Angelina's death that he'd not been concentrating fully as he'd side-along Apparated Ginny back to the house. Ginny had arrived in one piece (_thankfully_), but George had managed to leave part of his left ear behind. Because it was a battlefield, it hadn't been safe to return and retrieve it, and now too much time had gone past. George would have to adjust. _'As if losing Angelina wasn't enough!' _

Remus was the only person Harry couldn't account for but Hermione, who had a sixth-sense at times, informed Harry that the former professor was taking a shower._  
_

Glancing around the room, Harry was relieved to see very few signs of injury. Molly's wand arm was in a sling, but as he watched Harry saw her cheat and use it several times as she worked her magic at the stove. Soon enough, plates of warm cookies and mugs of steaming tea were set on the table, the latter to which many added liberal amounts of firewhisky from a bottle being passed around.

From the center of the room Molly loudly cleared her throat, earning everyone's attention. She took her time inspecting each of the three newest arrivals, making each squirm in their seats in turn, before settling her gaze on Charlie. "_Charlie Weasley! _ You dare to sit there as if nothing is wrong, when you're clearly injured? Did you think those injuries would mend themselves? You march yourself upstairs right now _young man_, and get that shirt off so I can see the damage."

Charlie faced dragon's every day, but he was not about to stand against his mother when she was wound up. With a barely-suppressed sigh, he put down his mug of mostly whiskey and left the kitchen. Molly followed, but at the door – without even turning back to look – she added, "Don't you get too comfortable yourself, William Weasley, I know about that burn on your hand … you'll be next. And you, Harry W—Potter, that leg and those ribs need tending. Go take your shower while I work on the other boys. I'll find you when I'm ready."

She left without waiting for a reply, but Harry didn't hesitate to follow her command. After that slip of tongue, he wouldn't have disobeyed even if he felt fine – which he really didn't. And a hot shower did sound nice. Giving Ginny a gentle pat on the rump, he let her stand before getting up himself. He gulped down his own spiced tea and left, hoping that the others in the room mistook his blush for embarrassment, instead of the warm rush that came with knowing she truly did think of him as one of her own.

Once he was safe in the privacy of his bedroom, he striped down and checked out the damage in the mirror. Twisting and turning, he found bruises on his legs and his right shoulder, as well as several places in between; there were cuts and scratches and trails of dried blood on his arms, chest, and back; a nasty red welt on his wand arm that looked suspiciously like a burn; but worst by far were the two ribs that no longer appeared to be in straight lines. Maybe it was a good thing Molly was coming to check him over after all.

Moving away from the mirror, he set the tap at its hottest setting and let the water warm up. His tub was a traditional clawed-foot unit, easily twice as big as a standard Muggle version, but otherwise perfectly ordinary, right down to the gaudy plastic shower curtain that circled the tub. For a moment Harry considered taking a long soak – but he feared he'd fall asleep and drown, and wouldn't that be a fine end to a battle! Instead, he settled for a longer-than-normal shower, turning from time to time to allow the hot water to rain down on all his sore muscles.

It was when he was finally stepping out of the tub that the pain hit – hot and sharp, centered in his cursed scar, but so strong it felt like it completely penetrated his brain and came out in the back. Caught off guard, he lost his balance and fell out of the tub, landing sharply on his hip. Not that he noticed – no, by that point he was already lost …

… Voldemort was most displeased … his Death Eaters had failed him … it was a simple task, was it not, to destroy a family of blood traitors … but they returned empty-handed … his prized Graphorn dead … and Potter had slipped away again … no sense keeping the girl … and was that Jugson daring to make excuses … _Crucio_ …

When reality returned, Harry found himself curled in a ball on the chilly, wet bathroom floor. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he took stock of his injuries – and sure enough there were some new ones. Every small move caused pain to shoot through his left hip, where it had impacted with the hard tile floor. His tongue felt funny in his mouth, and he reached up to feel it. His fingers came away bloody.

A firm knocking on his door stopped further exploration, but also left him in a bit of a bind. No sooner had he managed to drag a towel across his lap than Molly Weasley came storming into the room.

"Harry dear, are you … oh dear ... did something happen?" Not giving him a chance to answer, she knelt down next to him and turned his face toward her. She looked him over critically, from the inflamed scar to the blood dribbling down his chin, before tapping his cheek gently with her wand. Instantly his tongue and throbbing cheek felt better.

"Let's get you to your bed and see if we can't get you fixed right up, alright dear," she cooed in a soothing voice as she guided the teen off the floor and into the other room.

Harry had just enough sense to keep his towel covering himself as he allowed his body to be pushed around.

"Now isn't the time for modesty," she admonished as he tightened his hold on the towel. "I thought I heard screaming, and when you didn't answer I let myself in. I hope you don't mind." As she spoke, she used her wand to float a tray containing her first aide supplies into the room. "Was it one of those visions?"

She'd asked so gently, with such compassion in her voice, that Harry found he wanted to explain. He stumbled over Voldemort's thoughts concerning Penelope Clearwater, and Molly promised she would let the others know the girl's presumed fate. It was also hard to relay that her entire family had been the targets - that his being there was just a bonus.

By the time she'd coaxed the entire episode from the boy, Molly was in tears herself, even as she pulled Harry into a tight hug. Luckily for Harry's bruised ego, the mood was broken by loud footsteps outside his room. All business now, Molly quickly checked Harry over and declared him bruised but not broken – except those two ribs, which were easily mended. She had him swallow a few nasty smelling potions then stood to leave so he could dress.

Just before exiting, she turned back. "I'll see you downstairs," she said, but she seemed to be hesitating. "Will there … I mean … do you think you'll have another vision tonight?"

"No, one's usually it," he explained. "And I'm rather glad to get it done and out of the way now – no worries about sleeping tonight."

"You don't think you'll need a sleeping potion?"

"No. And even if I was worried, well … my sleeping pills were in my pocket, so I've got them for tonight." At her inquiring look, he explained, "I didn't think it was a good idea to leave them out where the twins could get their hands on them."

"Smart boy," she agreed as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Cleaned, mended, and fully clothed, Harry rejoined the family in the kitchen, where he found Remus was sitting at one end of the table, being fussed over by an uncharacteristically drab Tonks. Arthur, he was relieved to see, had brought Fred back from St. Mungo's. Fred looked a bit pale and was hunched forward slightly, but there was a smile on his face as he sat next to his lost-looking twin. He took in George's missing ear, and leaning close to whisper something. From that point on, every time someone spoke to either of them, Fred would elbow George in the ribs and shout "did you hear that?" Then he would repeat whatever had been said, in a progressively louder and more annoying voice, until finally George cracked a smile. It was a start.

Over by the fireplace, a solemn Arthur was standing next to Percy, and the two were talking quietly. No doubt about the missing, now presumed dead, Penelope Clearwater. Part of a nearby conversation caught Harry's attention, and he scanned the crowd until he found the speakers – Bill and Remus were debating how to get a hold of Albus. Harry knew that his guardian was in America, but not a specific location. Remus was mentioning hiring a Kittiwake to fly a message across the pond when inspiration struck. After all, one trick from the Chamber had worked today, why not two?

In a low voice, so as not to draw attention to himself, he called out, "Fawkes, I need you …" he darted his eyes around the room, not sure where he should be looking since he was talking to an animal that wasn't even in the house, let alone the room. He pleaded, "_we_ need you … the family needs you. _Please come_." He finished speaking and stood in his place, fiddling with his hands as he waited to see if it worked.

Mercifully, it didn't take long. In a flash, the majestic bird appeared and landed on the middle of the table. He looked around the room, locking eyes with Harry as he waddled the length of the table to his familiar boy. Fawkes had captivated all the occupants of the room, but he paid them no mind as he stopped in front of Harry, who reached out and stroked the bird's head feathers. "Hello Fawkes. Sorry to bother you, but we need to get a message to … er" (he quickly glanced around the room) "… the Headmaster. Could you do that for us?"

The intelligent creature bobbed its head, clearly agreeing to do so, and Arthur quickly penned the message outlining the attack and naming the losses – Dedalus Diggle, Angelina Johnson, and most likely, Penelope Clearwater. Note secured, Fawkes gave the room in general, and Harry particularly, a few uplifting notes before leaving.

Since he was already standing next to the boy, Arthur took the opportunity to ask Harry to please jot him a note so he could collect Aunt Muriel from St. Mungo's and bring her to the house. The request caught Harry by surprise, but he nodded once as he took up the quill and wrote out his address. Although the two tried to be discrete, the exchange was noticed. As Arthur and Percy left, Harry noticed that many in the room were giving him odd looks. Hermione in particular had that 'solving the mystery' look that he was learning to hate.

Harry knew that the adults wouldn't push the issue- at least not with both Arthur and Albus absent - but he couldn't count on the same restraint from his friends. Hoping to at least avoid a scene, he asked his friends to come with him to the sitting room. Pulling Ginny by the hand, he went straight to the other room, not bothering to see who followed. He plopped down at one end of the sofa, pulling Ginny tightly against his side. Behind them came Ron and Hermione, surprisingly followed by Fred, who was being supported by his twin. They choose to sit on opposite arms of the same over-stuffed chair.

Other than Hermione charming the door for privacy, the room was silent. Typically, it was Ron who cracked, and he blurted out, "Since when are you the Secret Keeper?" As heads turned to look at the loud-mouthed boy, he shrugged, "What? Like you weren't all thinking the same thing." He turned his attention back to his friend, "You just gave Dad the address, and back at home … you told Percy and Charlie where to go. You couldn't do that unless you were the Secret Keeper. _Sooo_ … what gives, mate?"

"Well," Harry started, not sure what to say. "I, ah … I don't think I'm supposed to say anything, although … I mean, you all know the secret already anyway … so –"

"Oh for the love of Merlin," Hermione snapped, "will you just spit it out already!"

"Alright then … yes, I", and here Harry made that gesture of quotation marks in the air with his fingers, "_have_ the secret, so I can," another set of quotation marks, "_tell_ it to others. Happy?"

Ron's "why you" was drown out by Hermione's "but how did that work, I mean the Headmaster was definitely the—"

A very Umbrige-like "hem hem" silenced the room, cutting Hermione off mid-ramble. Pleased to have everyone's attention, Ginny turned to Harry and said, "We're not mad. Not _too_ mad, anyway. We all understand that there were things happening that you weren't supposed to tell us." She turned to glare at Ron, "_Don't we_?"

Ron threw his hands up in surrender, "Yeah, _we do_, Harry." Funnily enough, although he said Harry's name, he was looking at his sister as he spoke.

"Right then," Hermione said, getting the siblings to turn their attention away from each other. "It seems to me that the cat's out of the bag, so to speak. So let's hear it Potter."

"Fine," he replied. "Just give me a minute." Harry knew just one truth wouldn't be enough – that one answer would just lead to another question, so he took his time to decide how much to reveal. "I guess it starts last summer, shortly after I left the Dursley's. That's when I joined the Order." By the open mouths of his friends, that was not what they were expecting to hear.

He chose to look at the wall behind Fred so he wouldn't have to watch his friends' reactions. "The Headmaster felt I needed to be more involved. He also wanted it to be kept secret, so I couldn't say anything. I'd attend the meetings under my cloak, and with silencing charms put on me. Then after everyone else had left, he and I would discuss what I had heard. Not the most efficient means, but it worked."

He turned to Ron, who he felt was the most likely to be upset. "I'd have loved for you guys to be included too, but it wasn't up to me. But I shared as much with you as I could." His gaze swept over to Hermione and Ginny, and he was pleased to see that they didn't look like they were plotting retaliation – yet. "Besides, it's not like I had a lot of say in anything. I was hidden in a corner, for heaven's sake! Couldn't have spoken up if I'd wanted to. I mean, when you really think about it, it was more like eavesdropping than anything else."

"Fair enough," Fred said; he was also an Order member, so he wasn't really bothered by that admission. "But how does that translate into you being the Secret Keeper?"

"I'm still not sure I understand that myself." He replied. "About a week before the invasion, there was an Order meeting, and I was supposed to openly attend. Remember that day I was pulled out of Defense, and didn't turn up 'till late that night?" Hermione acknowledged him with a nod. "It was supposed to be my first meeting not wearing my cloak." He chuckled as he realized his poor choice of words. "Without my invisibility cloak, Ron," he corrected before his friend had the chance to make a smart-ass comment.

"So anyway, before we were supposed to leave for the meeting, the Headmaster told me he wanted to discuss a few things. And one of them was making me the Secret Keeper. Honestly, I though he'd finally cracked his nut when he suggested it, but he was serious." He paused for a moment, glad his friends were being patient. "He claims it's a brilliant plan – that Voldemort would never think it could be me, so he would never think to ask about it if he captures me."

"Oh my!" Hermione interrupted. "That … that really is brilliant. Voldemort would never think you are that important. I mean," she quickly corrected, as she caught sight of Harry's narrowing eyes, "he's too arrogant to consider you a legitimate threat. And since he wants to keep you alive now –"

"_Hermione!_" Harry yelped.

"Sorry, but … I figured the twins probably already knew that part."

"Right you are, Miss Granger," Fred happily replied. "We important Order members – you know, the ones that are allowed to be seen and heard during meetings – we know all about You-Know-Who's plan to take Harry alive."

"Yeah, well," Ron had to cut in "we _important Hogwarts students_ knew about the invasion first."

"This isn't a pissing contest, boys," Hermione reprimanded, seeing the conversation quickly deteriorating. But it didn't have the desired effect. Unless she had actually meant to instigate a pissing contest, in which case it worked marvelously. Fred and Ron had both instantly warmed to that idea, and Harry (who just wanted this conversation to end) was quick to join in. Despite her loud protests that it was childish and unsanitary, the three boys had convinced a reluctant George of the necessity of seeing who could hit the bulls-eye from the farthest distance.

As Hermione tried to figure out what had just happened, the boys escaped the room and tromped up the steps to a little used bathroom, three of them laughing all the way. Ginny had tried to tag along – strictly to impartially judge, she insisted – but the other three Weasleys overruled Harry's one 'yea' vote. The two girls were left alone; one wondering what other secrets Harry had, the other wishing she had an Extendable Eye.

The boys found their way back to the kitchen just in time for a late supper. At Ginny's inquisitive look, Harry bragged that he had won, prompting her to reply that she knew all along he had the best equipment. Her declaration was heard by every male Weasley in the room, prompting Harry to choose a seat between Remus and Hermione, thinking any seat next to a Weasley was bound to be dangerous right now.

Professor McGonagall had arrived while they'd been competing and had been convinced to stay for supper. Everyone was close to full when Arthur and Percy returned with Auntie Muriel in tow. The old woman looked tired enough to fall over, and maybe just a touch overheated, but held herself as if she hadn't just been severely injured. She was also moving slowly and holding onto Percy, but she managed to make it look as if she was being escorted and not supported.

Molly had pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, cushioning the seat to be more comfortable, and Muriel lowered herself into it, sighing dramatically as she settled herself. She looked up to see that she had the room's attention.

"What an interesting place you have brought me to, Molly dear," she said to her niece. "Most people try to make their homes bright and cheerful. How original to go for drab and dreary instead. You must feel right at home here, what with so much housework waiting to be done."

Out the corner of his eye, Harry saw Arthur place his arm gently on Molly's shoulder. _'Probably to keep her from attacking.'_ He stepped forward and replied, "I'm sorry if the house is a bit unwelcoming, Mrs. Prewett. I'm afraid between going to school, dodging Ministry hacks, and battling Death Eaters, I haven't had much time to dedicate to remodeling. You should be thankful that Remus was at least able to remove that loud-mouthed portrait of Mrs. Black. But then, I have a feeling you would have been able to put the old hag in her place."

"Oh, you charmer. So we're at Walburga Black's old place, are we? Well, that certainly explains the pretentious décor. Snooty as all get out, that one was. Can't say I was sorry when she passed on." She motioned Harry closer, and lowered her voice as she added, "I know it's not polite to speak ill of the dead, but between you and I, she was a little too proud to have married her own cousin, if you get my meaning …_ oh dear_ … you aren't related to them, are you?"

"Not exactly, Mrs. Prewett. Sirius Black was my godfather, and he left me the house. But I think it's safe to say that he shared your opinion of his mother."

"And aren't you sweet," Muriel replied sweetly, "all 'Mrs. Prewett this' and 'Mrs. Prewett that'. You, my dear boy, must call me Aunt Muriel." Even though Harry gave no indication that he objected, she held up her hand as she added, "No … I insist."

Harry graciously thanked 'Aunt Muriel' for the offer and retook his seat. At the counter, Molly was looking at him with pride in her eyes while most of the siblings were looking at him in awe. Aunt Muriel rarely showed such warmth toward new people; and never, _ever _invited non-relatives to address her in such a familiar manner.

The rest of dinner was rather uneventful, and soon Molly was directing people to open bedrooms, claiming that an early night would do them all good. Bill escaped by offering to run to the Alley and pick up a few essentials to tide the family over. But no amount of arguing got the others a reprieve, and they all said their good nights and headed upstairs.

Harry escorted Ginny to the room she and Hermione would share, and after a chaste goodnight kiss, he left the girls. On the way to his own room he decided to stop and check on Ron. Knocking on the door, he entered without waiting for Ron's reply. He found his friend standing next to his bed, his shirt off as if he had been changing.

"Whoa, wrong room there, mate," Ron screeched as he turned, his arms awkwardly crossed over his chest.

Ignoring the comment, Harry moved to the bed and sat down. "I just wanted to check on you. You alright?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" he answered back, dropping his arms as he reached for a nightshirt. "I know I can be a bit of a jealous git at times, but trust me … I have no desire to be anyone's Secret Keeper. You're welcome to the job."

"No, you git," Harry shot back. "I didn't mean about that. I was talking about that curse you got hit with back at the Burrow. I didn't see you getting any, er ... I mean I didn't see your Mum up here with you. So, did it get … I mean, is your …" he paused as he waved his hand in the general direction of Ron's privates "I mean, no lasting damage?"

"Nah," Ron shrugged, "it weren't nothin' serious. Not worth the fuss Mum would've made over it."

"You mean you didn't tell her?"

Ron shook his head. "A man's privates are, well … private, ya know? It stopped tingling, so I figured the curse musta run its course."

"You sure?" Harry pressed, "Death Eaters aren't exactly known for their harmless pranks."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Ron answered, "it worked fine during the contest, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry laughed back, "fine enough for third place, anyways."

"And I still say you cheated," Ron protested. "Either you or that house-elf of yours. It's not natural for a man to have that much control over his piss stream."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry waved him off, "you're just jealous."

"Or maybe you've just had lots more practice handling your stick."

Harry jumped from the bed. "No way am I touching that one – if I agree, I'm a wanker. If I deny it, you worry about Ginny." He moved to the door, but turned back just before leaving the room. "I guess you must be alright, if you can make such lame-arse jokes. Night, Ron." He ducked out the door just as a pillow came flying toward his head.

Safely locked in his own room, he waited for about 45 minutes, then called Kreacher for a secret mission. The strange little elf didn't disappoint, popping out and back in less than a minute. Behind him, the air shimmered before Ginny appeared from under Harry's cloak.

Harry smiled as he thanked the elf. "If you could just make certain we're not interrupted?" The elf grumbled even as he vowed to do so, but Harry knew his heart wasn't really in it. Now that he liked his Master, he had really started to enjoy serving the living again.

Once they were alone, Harry relaxed on the bed while Ginny looked around the room. Spotting a picture frame, she went over to the desk and found a photo of a young James and Lily Potter standing in a garden.

"It was Sirius'," Harry explained, even though she hadn't asked. "I figured, might as well keep it here. I already have one like it at home."

"Hmm," she absently responded as she continued her investigation of his room. She ran her fingers over the pile of musty old books on the desk, lifting the cover of the first. "_Blood of my Blood: Manipulating Familial Ties_ … planning something Harry?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Not exactly," he evasively replied, "and it didn't have what I was looking for anyway."

She had asked in jest, but his answer got her attention. "What exactly were you looking for in a book about blood relatives?"

Looking beyond her, he quietly answered, "Voldemort shares my blood, so I thought … well … anyways, it mostly just showed you how to get around family inheritance clauses."

"Oh," was all she could think to say. The mood in the room was turning decidedly gloomier than she'd expected when they'd planed this rendezvous. Wanting to lighten the atmosphere, she searched for something else to discuss. When she spied a book sticking out from under the bedside table, she knew it had to be something good.

Before he realized what she was up to, Ginny had moved around him and scooped up the book. Holding it up so he could see what she had, she read, "_The Bridal Quest_, huh? Was this Sirius' too?"

Harry jumped from the bed and tried to grab the book from her hand, but she easily evaded him, turning her back to protect her treasure. He moved behind her, reaching around to try to wrestle the book from her grip. Stretching her arm so the book was out of his reach, she flipped it open to a creased page.

With one last look over her shoulder, she turned her attention to the book. "Let's see … 'His hands slid up her back, moving to caress her sides, then sweeping down to curve over her buttocks'." She was trying her best to read in a sultry voice, but couldn't keep the laughter out of it. "I see why you like this … 'His fingers dug into the soft flesh, cupping her and lifting her up onto the hard, pulsing evidence of his desire. Irene had never felt a man in this way, indeed'—"

The book was knocked out of her hand, stopping the impromptu recital. But the damage had been done. "Why, Harry," Ginny cooed, turning to face him, "you naughty little boy. My mum never lets me read those kinds of books."

Harry's face was possibly the reddest it had ever been, and he was having trouble looking her in the eyes. "Come on Gin," he tried to reason, "wasn't there something we were wanting to do. You know … you … me … bedroom."

"What, Harry? Are you going to dig your fingers into my soft flesh? Maybe hold me against your big … pulsing … manhood?"

Ginny had accentuated each word with a thrust of her hips, and suddenly Harry decided he didn't mind the teasing after all. In fact, he might still get what he wanted. He took the half-step that separated his body from hers, and snaked his left arm around her waist. In one powerful move, he pulled her body flush with his. His right hand came up to find that soft flesh of hers, and he leaned close to her ear and whispered, "what do you think, Ginny-love?"

As the two frantically moved to the bed, the well-read book was kicked under underneath. They never missed it.

-000-

Morning came to much too early for Harry's liking. He stumbled into the kitchen still trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. To his surprise, Albus was seated at the table, enjoying a warm roll and a glass of pumpkin juice. The man smiled as he noticed the boy, gesturing for Harry to take the seat nearest him.

Not many were in the kitchen. Hermione, Fleur and Bill were eating while Arthur was engrossed in papers of some sort. Molly was busy at the stove (really, when wasn't she?) but the scrubbing at the sink told Harry that others had already finished their meals. He poured himself a glass of juice, accepted a plate from Molly, and waited. It took thirteen seconds for Albus to ask.

Setting his fork down, he launched into a recap of the battle. Ron arrived during the telling, looking as tired as Harry felt, and he jumped in, adding bits to the story to give a full picture. When Harry got toward the end of the battle, the part after Ron had left when just the four remained, Bill took up the story. Fleur leaned into her husband's side, grabbing his hands in hers, as she listened.

By the time the tale was over, the tellers had the attention of everyone in the room, and Harry decided to use it to his advantage. He addressed the Weasley parents, pleading that Ron and Ginny (and by extension, Hermione) should be allowed to join the Order; or at least sit in on meetings. He reasoned that he'd already done so for close to a year, and nothing bad had happened as a result. He could see that Molly in particular didn't look convinced, and he turned to Hermione for help, but she only nodded encouragingly.

So on he rolled. They needed to be included, he argued, since they tended to be dragged into everything right alongside him. They had the experience fighting, having survived confrontations with Death Eaters on three separate occasions now. They were practically working for the Order already – they'd been instrumental in both discovering Malfoy's plan and in defending the school last year.

Harry could tell that he had Bill swayed, and Arthur looked to be considering all he'd heard. Molly was conspicuously silent, and Harry decided to take that as a good sign. She couldn't be too upset if she wasn't yelling, right?

Arthur broke the silence, "you certainly make a good case, Harry. Why don't you lot give us a chance to discuss this in private, and we'll get back to you with our decision?"

After Ron and Hermione had voiced their agreement, Albus loudly cleared his throat. Harry turned back to his guardian, and once again had the feeling that Albus was looking upon him with pride.

"Perhaps now we can get back to the task at hand. I wonder, Harry, if you could tell me again how you defeated the Graphorn? I'm afraid your description left a bit for the imagination."

'_Of course it did, it was supposed to.'_ Harry in fact had given hardly any details; only that he'd gotten a sword and stabbed the beast. It wasn't that he thought he'd be in trouble for using Gryffindor's sword, he just didn't want to draw people's attention to it. It was rather odd, after all, to have been able to call it from its place at Hogwarts all the way to Ottery St. Catchpole.

Unfortunately, Ron mistook his friend's silence for modesty, and he enthusiastically described the fight from the initial attack, to his own quip about killing the basilisk, to Harry's use of the familiar sword.

"Good heavens," Arthur exclaimed, "that was Gryffindor's Sword?" He seemed to suddenly be looking at Harry in a new, slightly calculating, though no less friendly manner.

Harry shrugged, but Ron would have none of that. "You better believe it. Just like Second Year. Pulled it right out of the hat, he did. Oh, that reminds me … _Accio Sorting Hat._" He held out his left hand, and soon enough the ragged hat flopped into his hand. Looking at it critically, he tried to wipe dust off the fabric before tossing to Harry. "Here you go, mate. You sorta dropped it on the ground during the fight, and I didn't think we wanted to leave it behind."

Ron had been looking at Harry as he spoke, so he missed the look of approval that Hermione gave him. For his part, Harry thanked Ron before himself tossing the hat toward Albus who, to everyone's surprise, caught it by its brim as it made to sail past him.

Seeing the hat reminded Harry of one important detail to the story. "While we're on the subject … I, er, don't exactly know where the Sword is … right this very minute."

"Right this very minute, Harry?" Albus questioned. "Does that mean that you know where it was, say … five minutes ago?"

"Er, not exactly," he mumbled, ashamed to confess he'd lost the priceless relic.

Twinkling eyes looked at him, but not from the face of his aged guardian. Oh no, it was his beloved Ginny that was finding such glee in Harry's discomfort. She'd snuck into the room at some point whilst he'd been pleading his friends' case; but he pointedly ignored her now as Albus patiently asked him, "Then what, exactly, do you know?"

"Well, I know that it was in my hand. I mean, I did use it to kill that thing. But then, I … I sorta dropped it so I could go for my wand." In hopes of leniency, he hastily added, "I did go back for it before I left, but it wasn't there. I know it was the right spot, because of the bloody imprint in the grass. I would have looked around for it, but … there were still Death Eaters and all … then when I finally got here … I kinda … _forgot_ about it."

"Not to worry, Harry," Albus offered, sounding remarkably unconcerned. "I suspect that the Sword felt its usefulness had ended, and it simply went home. However … as Professor McGonagall has pointed out to me on numerous occasions, if suspicions were facts, we wouldn't need the word 'suspicion'. So why don't you summon it for us, so as to put our collective minds at ease."

With a quick nod, Harry took a deep breath and brandished his wand. He wasn't sure this would work; it wasn't how he'd done it at the Burrow after all. But noticing the expectant looks around him, he went ahead and said it anyway, "_Accio Gryffindor's Sword_."

Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been for the Sorting Hat to leap from Albus' fingers back toward him. He caught the hat by its side, and laughed as he realized why he had the hat again. "It really is magic … pulling the rabbit from the hat. Or in this case, the sword from the hat," he said to no one in particular, although Hermione at least laughed along with him.

Aware that all eyes in the room were watching, Harry silently prayed that this worked again as he reached into the hat. A smile exploded on his face as he felt the familiar metal fit itself to the palm of his hand. He withdrew the sword, letting his left hand fall to his side as he twisted the sword in the air in front of him. "That never gets old," he laughed.

Pointedly ignoring the looks of awe on several faces, Harry spun it around and offered the handle to Albus, who accepted it with a smile of his own. The old man briefly examined the sword, and when he was satisfied that it was no worse for its wear, he made a quick swirl with the blade, snapping his wrist to bring the sword upright. It seemed to stop in the air for a heartbeat, before disappearing with a flash of light.

"Bloody hell … now that was impressive," Ron exclaimed.

"Language Ronald," shouted his mother, before she turned to Albus and added, "nicely done, Albus. I presume you've sent it back to Hogwarts?"

"As Headmaster, I can send anything or anyone directly to my office. A perk of the job, you might say." He glanced Harry's way, and was relieved to see the boy smiling at the little joke. "And now, I am afraid Harry and I must be taking our leave. But I wonder, William, if perhaps you could help this old man with something at the front door while Harry takes a moment to say his goodbyes?"

A confused Bill hopped up and followed Albus out of the room. The door swung closed behind him to the sound of his mother fussing over the dark-haired teen, but Bill was too busy thinking to notice. After the disaster that was supposed to be his wedding (thank Merlin they'd already exchanged their vows, or he'd have one pissed quarter-Veela on his hands!), he was all too eager to repay the Death Eaters their kindness.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** About the books mentioned in this chapter: 'Blood of my Blood', I think that's the book Sirius used to make sure Harry would inherit everything. The Bridal Quest is a real book by Candace Camp, and a good one, too. Wink, wink. The section quoted is from page 184.


	15. The Rest of the Family

Sadly, this chapter is being posted shortly after the death of a film legend, Leslie Nielsen. He made me laugh, and isn't that the best legacy? So in his honor:

Me – I have to write a disclaimer!

LN – A disclaimer? What is it?

Me – It's a legal notice of minor interest to my readers, but that's not important right now. I should probably tell you, I don't own Harry Potter.

LN – Surely you can't be serious?

Me – No, that's Harry's godfather. And a very overused joke.

All together now – And don't call me Shirley.

.

.

**Chapter 15. The Rest of the Family**

Harry tried to keep his goodbyes short – really he did – but Molly thought he looked like he needed more to eat … then Ginny had wanted one more hug, since Harry wouldn't kiss her in front of so many Weasleys ... and Ron wanted promises that they would see each other again soon for a Quidditch rematch ... and Hermione was babbling something about homework … and Ginny wanted just one more hug.

Finally, with a freshly baked tart in hand, Harry was able to follow his guardian's path.

"I'll do what I can, Albus," he heard Bill agree, just before the older red-head turned to walk away.

"Perfect timing, Harry," Albus proclaimed as he opened the door, motioning for Harry to go first.

Once outside the oppressive house, Harry expected Albus to tell him to head home. Instead, Albus seemed content to walk the front path to the sidewalk, and Harry fell into an easy step beside him.

"I wonder, Harry, if you are interested in taking a side trip with me before we return to the cottage." Albus said it in such a casual manner that Harry could almost think there was nothing special about the proposed trip. But he knew better.

"Certainly, Seba," he agreed. "Don't suppose you could tell me where, though?"

Albus didn't answer right away, preferring to continue his stroll in silence. He waited until they'd reached the edge of a small, overgrown park, obviously abandoned to nature, before stopping near a still-standing stretch of railing. He turned to Harry and softly said, "Death is a strange beast, Harry. For any one of us, it a grand thing; the chance to move on to another realm and be reunited with those who have already gone ahead. I imagine it to be a –"

"A great adventure," Harry finished for him. "I know. You've …ah, told me that already."

"So I have, so I have. And I truly believe that, Harry. The dead do not mourn, they rejoice. Mourning is for the living. We weep for what we have lost." Albus grew quiet for a moment, and Harry began to wonder if this was more than just a pep talk, so he waited quietly for the man to continue. Albus finally did, saying, "Forgive me for the morose mood. I have the unfortunate task of arranging for Dedalus' final resting place. He had only distant relatives, and I am sorry to say that it is not possible to bury him with his family."

Albus turned away and drew quiet again, making Harry uncomfortable. He'd seen these rare glimpses of humanity in his guardian before, and quite honestly, he didn't think he liked them any more. He wanted Albus Dumbledore to be omnipotent, and unerring, and _strong_.

Looking his guardian over critically, Harry didn't see anything unusual. No bags under his eyes, loose pasty skin, or the like. Nonetheless, the man bore an air of sadness that was ill-suited to asomeone called The Greatest Wizard of His Age.

Following Albus' gaze, Harry spotted the lone squirrel that had captured the man's attention, running from tree to tree as it searched for something. Food, most likely. Well, whatever it was, the poor thing wasn't finding it, and it continued its hectic search – running and jumping from place to place, occasionally stopping to look around and chatter.

Without turning away from his frantic little friend, Albus' voice broke the uncomfortable silence. "It was the summer I was promoted to Headmaster. Dedalus decided we needed to celebrate. It wasn't every day one became Headmaster of the most prestigious school of its kind, after all ... We decided to spend a week in a small sea-side Muggle village, pretending to be two perfectly ordinary Muggles. We'd done all the usual things single men do … drinking, dancing, picking up women." He shot a sideways glance at Harry and added, "very beautiful … very friendly women, Harry."

But then his eyes shifted back to the lonesome squirrel, as if he was sharing his story with it. "One afternoon, we decided we could really impress the ladies if we could drive them around town. So we _acquired_ ourselves this fancy looking blue contraption, and we gave it a try."

He chuckled softly as he continued, "we couldn't figure out how you were supposed to work three pedals with only two legs, so Dedalus took the driver's seat, and he worked the first two pedals. That left me to work the third pedal … the clutch, I believe it is called, and the stick. We shared control of the steering wheel. Well … you've driven – or at least helped drive – a car. You can imagine how horribly that worked. Somehow … and I've never quite figured out how … we managed to drive the car off the road, through a stream, and straight into a giant oak. Needless to say, we had to find a different way to impress our lady friends that night."

Albus grew quiet again and Harry honored the silence, waiting and watching the squirrel. "He was a good friend," Albus finally said. "I have decided to bury Dedalus in the Dumbledore family plot in Godric's Hollow. My father was buried elsewhere, so there is an empty spot." Albus turned from the squirrel to Harry to continue. "It occurred to me that you should not see your parents' graves for the first time while attending another's funeral, assuming of course that you wish to attend with me. And so, I thought it would be prudent for us to visit your birth town today. We can pay our respects to your parents, and perhaps my mother and sister, and maybe even see your first home."

"Wait … what?" Harry didn't know where to start. "You mean the house is still there? Wasn't it destroyed? And what sister? I never knew you had a sister … and where is your father –"

"One question at a time, I think," Albus chuckled. "I had a younger sister. She passed on when I was rather young. My father's final resting place is in fact unknown to me. And yes, the house is still standing, more or less. So, shall we go?"

For a second Harry thought about saying no – he didn't want to see what remained of his happy family home – didn't want to face the proof he was an orphan – didn't want to know about the family Albus had before him. But that was being irrational, he knew, so he tossed his suddenly-unappetizing tart to the squirrel as he agreed to go.

Albus held out his arm, and when it was firmly in Harry's grasp, the two disappeared from London. In a flash they arrived in what Harry recognized at the same barn Uncle Abe had used. Instead of transfiguring his robes as Harry had expected him to, Albus unclasped and removed his ornate, orange and red velvet robes. Underneath, he was wearing a surprisingly tasteful pair of blue slacks with new white sneakers and a plaid shirt of blues and greens. Harry complemented the man's attire, though he privately suspected Minerva had a hand in the outfit.

The two made their way to the village square much as Harry had done on his trip with Uncle Abe. They hardly spoke, as if in reverence for the place they were headed, and in no time at all they found themselves entering the square. Albus laid his hand on Harry's arm, effectively stopping their forward progress.

He pointed to the tombstone-like war memorial and told Harry to keep his eyes on it. They continued closer, and when they were mere yards away, Harry nearly jumped in surprise. What had been plain carved stone had transformed before his eyes into a statue of three people. Or two people and one child, to be more precise. His jaw dropped open as he looked into the frozen face of his father – a man only a few years older than he was now.

James looked happy, sitting with his wife and young son; and Harry couldn't help but wonder if the statue had been tailored after a family photograph. His parents certainly looked like they did in his pictures, and he could only assume his toddler-self was accurate as well. He could see that this was a loving family; it was a picture-perfect moment frozen in time. Yet, something wasn't right.

Moving closer, he realized what was wrong. There was no scar on little Harry's forehead. This child had not survived the Killing Curse. It struck him as odd, that they would leave off the scar, since it was what made him the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. On impulse, he reached forward and touched the empty spot on the statue's head. Beside him, he was aware that Albus was quietly watching, and he was thankful that the man was giving him some space.

A car horn interrupted the moment, and Harry dropped his hand back to his side. "I just wish …," he started, and though he was unable to finish his thought, Albus understood.

"We all wish it," he replied. Moving closer, he put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Would you like a few more moments, or should we continue on?"

Glancing once more at his father's smiling face, Harry replied, "Nah, we can go. It doesn't do to dwell on what could have been, right?"

"Is that what you were doing?" Albus chuckled. "I rather though you were getting a glimpse into your own future."

"Not you too!" Harry replied, exasperated. "I mean, I know I look like my dad, but look at her," he said, pointing to his statue-mother. "Without the red hair, there's no resemblance to Ginny whatsoever."

"Forgive me the joke, Harry," Albus replied. "I quite agree with your assessment. In truth, of all your friends, it's always been Miss Granger that most reminds me of your mother. Like your friend, Lily Evans' enthusiasm for knowledge was only second to her steadfast loyalty to friends and her personal crusades. For Miss Granger, it is House Elf welfare; but for your mother, it was a drive to have Leprechauns reclassified as Beings. She refused to be swayed by the little fact that they don't seem to mind being classified as Beasts."

Harry enjoyed hearing about his mother, and continued to listen to the story of his mother's letter campaign on behalf of the Leprechauns as they moved away from the statue. But giving it one last glance before it faded back to its Muggle state, he suddenly groaned as a thought struck him, and turned back to Albus. "_Please_ tell me the Weasleys never brought their family here to see this."

Albus chucked again as he replied, "I dare say a great many of your classmates have visited this place. I am uncertain about the Weasleys in particular. Perhaps you could write to your Ginny and ask her if she has been here?"

"Erm, no. On second thought, I don't want to know."

Albus agreed that was probably for the best, and the two resumed their trip across the square to the church yard. After passing through the gate, Albus lead Harry through the maze of tomb stones until they finally came to stop in front of a low stone of white marble. Knowing what he would see, Harry knelt down and read parents names. He didn't bother looking at the rest; he already knew when they'd died.

Albus tapped him on his shoulder, and when he had Harry's attention, handed him a stick he had picked up from the ground. Harry's confusion must have shown on his face, but Albus ignored it as he said, "I shall only be a few rows away, should you need anything."

Harry watched his guardian move a few rows behind and a couple graves down. On his way, Albus bent down and picked up some more sticks, and in a heart beat he had turned them into two flower wreaths, which he placed on two nearby markers. Feeling a bit silly now that he understood what his stick was for, Harry turned back to his own family. He transfigured the stick into a bough of ivy, and spread it across the stone, the warm green color a lovely accent to the colorless stone.

With a sigh, Harry sat back on his feet, growing more awkward by the moment. Some people, he knew, spoke to their loved ones in their graves; but he felt it was stupid to do so. His parents weren't really down there, they were in heaven with their own parents, and Sirius, and now Angelina and Dedalus. Yet, as useless as he thought it was to speak to the graves, he couldn't just leave.

He began casting glances back to Albus, who was now sitting on a tree stump that Harry knew hadn't been there before. Albus, it appeared, had no such hang-ups, for he was talking away. Harry couldn't make out the words – and would have felt he was intruding if he could – but every once in a while, he could hear the faint sound of laughter, as if Albus was telling his mother an amusing story.

Turning back to the cold stone in front of him, he cleared his throat and softly said, "I … er … I miss you both. I really wish you were here." He stopped, not sure what else to say, when the sound of laughter behind him once again caught his attention. Smiling, he continued, "That's Seba … I mean Professor Dumbledore. Apparently he likes to tell funny stories to his families' graves. He's much more comfortable at this than I am. Guess he's been doing it longer."

He grew quiet for a moment, rather self-conscious about how he must look, talking to stone. "It was Sirius' idea for me to live with the professor," he explained. "It was strange at first, but it's nice now. I've had a rough couple of years down here, but I suppose you know that … You probably already know everything I could tell you, seeing how you're up there and all. So there's no real point in my talking, is there? So … I guess that's it. I should probably go. I'll see ya later – well, not exactly _see_ you, that's just a figure of speech, it means that I'm going to go now, but I'll try to make it back again soon … er, yeah." He cut off his nonsense babbling, thankful that no one was listening to what was probably one of the dumbest, most uncomfortable conversations of his life. But just to be safe, before he stood and went to Albus, he rubbed his sleeve across his eyes.

Harry made a fair bit of noise as he approached; he didn't want to interrupt a private moment after all. Albus remained sitting, but motioned for Harry to move next to him. When the boy was at his side, Albus cheerfully said, "this is Harry, mother. He's the one I've been telling you about. But enough for today, it appears it is time for us to go. Goodbye Mother, Ariana." He rose from his seat (which disappeared immediately) and placed his hand on each stone, closing his eyes as if in silent communication.

Not knowing how he was supposed to respond, having never been introduced to a dead woman's grave before, he decided to go with the first thing he thought. "She must have been a wonderful woman."

"That she was, my boy. She and Ariana were both amazing souls." He was quiet a moment before adding, "like you, I too wish." And like Harry, he was unable to put into words what he wished, but Harry understood.

Albus had grown silent, so Harry turned his attention back to the graves, looking for clues to Albus' past. And there it was – the biggest clue he'd found to date. The year of death: 1899, for both of them. Kendra Dumbledore had died first, and she had been followed by her teenaged daughter mere months later.

He surreptitiously looked from the graves to his guardian and back, wondering about this family he was now a part of. Who was this woman named Kendra Dumbledore? What kind of woman was she to have raised one son who loved goats and booze and another who loved magic? How had she chosen such eccentric names for her sons – had she known how her boys would grow into them? Had her husband preceded her in death, or had she died expecting him to join her here? Did she already know her daughter's time was short, or that her sons would grow so far apart?

There were so many questions … but one question leapt to the front of his mind. "Sir … how did your sister die?"

"The usual way, Harry. Her heart stopped beating." Albus promptly changed the subject by pointing to the empty spot beside the marker for his beloved mother. "Now this is where we shall bury Dedalus. I think he and my mother would have gotten along famously. Did you know I get my sense of humor from my mother?"

Harry knew Albus had side-stepped his question, and he hoped he hadn't offended the man. He hadn't thought it was particularly personal – when he'd been growing up people had asked him all the time how his parents had died. But apparently, it was a sensitive topic; maybe even the elusive source of the rift between the brothers. He pushed his thoughts away and voiced his opinion that like Albus, Dedalus Diggle had been quite the character.

Leaving the graves behind, they made their way back to the village square. But instead of heading back to the old barn, they headed in the opposite direction. After walking a while, Harry heard someone call Albus' name, and was surprised to see an elderly woman waving from her porch. Albus returned the wave, although he made no move to stop and speak. The woman continued to watch them, but Harry lost all interest in what she was doing as he took in the sight that appeared before him.

It must have once been a cozy little cottage, he thought, much like his current home. A nice little house on a pretty little piece of land, surrounded by a quaint little fence. At one time, it had probably been cheery and inviting. But then, Halloween happened. Or more accurately, on Halloween, Voldemort happened.

Harry slowed his pace as they drew near, and Albus kept in step with him the entire way. Over the neglected and over-grown hedges, Harry could see the house itself; its siding rotting and sagging, windows broken out or dirt covered. His eyes drifted of their own accord to the top floor, whose right side was blown apart, and he shuddered as his mind replayed a flash of green and a high-pitched laugh.

Jerking his eyes away, he looked at the yard – his yard – and wondered if he had played in it when he was little. The family had been in hiding, a Fidelius Charm concealing the house; but had it extended into the garden, so a young boy could get fresh air? Or had he been stuck inside, a cranky toddler not understanding why he couldn't go outdoors?

Scanning the yard now, he couldn't see any sign that a little boy had played there – no wagons, balls, or swing-sets. Just debris. Pieces of wood and shingle, what might have been a chair sticking up from behind a bush, reflected light indicating pieces of broken glass.

His feet stopped of their own accord. He had reached the front gate without even realizing it. Without thought, he rested his hand on the gate, and instantly a small sign blossomed up from the weeds. Harry read the words inscribed – explaining to all how this place was meant to be a monument – and he felt himself literally shaking in anger. The house, it told, had been left as it had stood that night not only in some twisted homage to the dead family, but as a reminder of the violence that had happened there.

"_Bastards_!" he roared, turning on Albus. "Taking _my house_, and turning it into some … some tourist stop. What, do they get to roam the house – see where it all happened." He continued in a high-pitched, mocking tone, "look honey, that scorch mark on the wall was made by You-Know-Who himself, and that spot by the door must be where James kicked the bucket. Oh, do you think we can take this broken mug as a souvenir?"

Albus reached out and pulled Harry's hand away from the gate. The magical marker, no longer being called, shrank back into the ground unnoticed. "No one would do that, Harry," he tried to assure the boy. "For one thing, no one can enter the house. It is magically sealed. And for another, it is completely empty; its contents were removed long ago." His gaze shifted from Harry's face to the house itself. "People needed to come here to see for themselves because otherwise, they could not bring themselves to believe. Much like people couldn't accept that Voldemort had risen two years ago; fifteen years ago, they were afraid to believe he had been defeated. And by a child, no less? They needed to come and see this place, so they could believe that they were free."

"Except they weren't," Harry viciously pointed out. "It's not like the war really ended here." He looked at Albus, a hard, almost cold look in his eyes. "This is just a murder scene. Can you imagine people flocking to an alleyway in London to see where the local drunkard got knifed?" He glanced off to the side and made a vague gesture toward to the village square, "Let them see the statue, or the graves even, but this … this is just morbid … it's disrespectful … it's … it's … _they were my parents_, and they died for _me_, not for a bunch of gits that want to feel good about their own pathetic, safe little lives by visiting an _abandoned house_. Well, no. They don't get to do that any more. I want it torn down."

"Harry," Albus began, but he was cut off.

"It's my house, isn't it? I mean, didn't my parents leave everything to me?"

Albus could only nod in agreement.

"Well, if it's my house, it's my decision. And I say take it down. Blast it, burn it … hell, bulldoze it if you have to, but I want it – and that blasted little sign – gone."

"Very well, Harry," Albus tiredly replied. "I can see that your mind is made up; and you are correct that it is your house to do with as you please. But ask yourself this: are you destroying the house because you believe it to be a false idol, or are you destroying the house because it hurts too much to see it for yourself?"

Harry almost shouted an angry reply, but he saw the concern in Albus' eyes, and calmed himself down enough to say, "look, I'm not trying to hide from my pain, or anything like that. I just really think glorifying the scene of a double homicide is morally reprehensible. And even if I agree – which I don't, but let's say I did – even if I agreed that it was important for people to come here back then ... so what? He's back now, so the whole idea of giving people proof that he's gone is sorta irrelevant, don't you think?"

As it was a rhetorical question, Albus didn't answer, as Harry had known he wouldn't. The two were quiet for a moment, before Harry added, "I do like the statue, though. Can't that be enough?"

In the end, Albus had to agree that it was time for the house to come down. After all, the real subject of the memorial – Voldemort's downfall – was no longer valid. Albus agreed to get the wheels started the next time he visited the Ministry. Deciding they'd had enough for the day, they continued to follow the road out of the village until they came to a small group of trees from which they Disapparated.

-000-

The funeral for Angelina Johnson was held on a crisp Monday morning. Harry didn't attend. Oh, he wanted to go – wanted to offer his condolences to the family and support George. But he and Albus had agreed that it just wouldn't be safe. In such a large, open assembly it would be far too easy for someone to either grab him or do him harm.

And, as much as he hated to think it, there was the attention he would bring just by being there. The idea of taking the spotlight at a funeral didn't sit well with him. Angelina deserved to be honored; so he'd settled for asking Ginny to pass along his thoughts and prayers. Instead, he spent the morning sitting under a tree absently flipping through his photo album and contemplating what to do with the land in Godric's Hollow.

By afternoon his mind had taken a morbid twist as the troubles of the past few days caught up with him. A doodle pad had replaced the photo album, and he was hard at work designing the perfect grave stone. Several designs had been started and abandoned, including one that looked like a Grecian column and another in a whimsical lightening-bolt shaped design. The current design featured a simple, knee-high cauldron made of black stone. Words and numbers were inscribed in a circular pattern so they wrapped themselves around the pot – the normal stuff, like date of birth and date of death. And of course, name of the deceased. That would be in all capitals, so it couldn't be missed: _TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_

He showed his design to Albus upon the man's return, who merely raised his eyebrow at Harry's choice of recreational activity.

"It's low to the ground, see," Harry explained. "So people can … you know … piss on his grave without making a mess."

Albus couldn't stop the chuckles as he agreed it was a fine design. Of course, it had been rather late when Albus had returned, and he was probably as emotionally beat as Harry was. He'd attended both Angelina's and Sturgis Podmore's funerals today, and he'd still found time to get some work in at the Ministry.

He'd even kept his promise to Harry, having procured papers for Harry to review and sign – namely a petition to have his personal property returned. Technically, the house was considered seized property, and Harry would first have to demand its release by the Ministry before the house could be destroyed. Harry was concerned that someone in the Ministry might try to stop him, but Albus assured him that his request would be approved post-haste.

Before Albus turned in for the night, Harry finally remembered to ask how the trip to the OSU had gone. Well, it turned out; but not as well as hoped. There was no silver bullet that would solve the problem quickly.

"It makes sense, when you understand the physical nature of Dementors," Albus had explained. "They do not live in the traditional sense – they do not require a beating heart, for example. What they do require is nourishment, which as you know they get by feasting on happiness and stolen souls. To destroy a Dementor one must stop it from feeding. A far easier thing to say than to do, since happiness and souls are rather plentiful."

Yeah, Harry reasoned, it wasn't like you could get rid of either of those.

Seeing that Harry understood the problem, Albus continued. "The OSU was reluctant to share their discovery because of the moral implications. To put it simply, they discovered how to take away a Dementor's ability to feed, in essence starving them to death. I am told it was quite gruesome to witness – that the sound of a Dementor's death throes would frighten a banshee."

Harry tried to imagine such a sound, but shrugged as he came up blank. The closest he could imagine were his own screams of agony as Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse on him, and he really preferred not to dwell on that.

"In addition," Albus had continued, not noticing he'd nearly lost his audience, "the spell they created is highly dangerous. It affects all living things in its path, and it has no counter – no cure. The American government has declared it an Unforgivable which can only be used by specially trained Aurors. At first, we had a hard time convincing them of our need."

This shocked Harry, who couldn't understand why.

"You must understand that Dementors have never been as large a threat in other countries as they are here. You see, Dementors do not care for large expanses of land; they prefer places surrounded by water or those covered in darkness, such as forests. For creatures that feast on goodness, they thrive in its opposite."

"But _they_ had a Dementor problem," Harry indignantly remembered, "how could they not understand?"

"Their problem was very isolated, Harry, in comparison to the size of their country. The rogue colony they handled contained no more than forty, whereas we had more than double that number just at Hogwarts your Third Year."

"But you got them to understand?"

"Kingsley and I were finally able to convince them of our need," Albus assured him. "It helped, I am sure, that Kingsley just happened to have with him a file full of picture after picture of recent victims – nineteen in just the two weeks leading up to our trip. They have agreed to train three Aurors the proper spell. I imagine our people will be knee-deep in training by the end of the week. It will take time, but I am confident that the Dementors will cease to be a problem in the near future – perhaps as soon as a year or two."

Shortly thereafter the conversation wound down, and Albus headed off for some much needed sleep, leaving Harry to his own thoughts. A year or two sounded like a long time to Harry, but he supposed it was better than twenty or thirty, or fifty, or never. He stumbled to bed that night very glad to have his sleeping pills, gladly accepting their icky side-effect if it meant not dreaming about skeletal figures in cloaks sucking all the happiness from his life.

The following day was a perfect summer day, and it seemed wrong to Harry that he should be dressing for a funeral instead of enjoying the sun. But today they were laying Dedalus Diggle to rest, and Harry had insisted he be present. Dedalus was the first wizard he could ever remember, even if he hadn't known that's what he was at the time. No, back then he'd just been a strangely dressed man that had bowed to an otherwise unwanted child.

Unlike the popular Angelina, Dedalus was considered eccentric, with few close friends and, as Harry now knew, no close family. It was unlikely the Death Eaters would even pay notice to his passing. Add to that the fact that most Order members had day jobs, and this was destined to be what Albus called a small, intimate service. Harry felt 'lonely' would be a better description.

It was Harry's first funeral of the magical variety, and only his second ever that he could remember. When he'd been eight, his primary school's headmaster had died unexpectedly, and the entire school had been bused to the stuffy church. All he really remembered from that experience was endless speeches, loud wailing, and the fact that he and most of his fellow students fidgeted and whispered through the whole thing.

This experience couldn't have been more different. It was a graveside service, and the few mourners attending were quietly respectful. Other than Albus, Molly Weasley, and Elphias Doge, Harry didn't recognize any of the attendees, although he thought the lady wearing the black lace veil might be Griselda Marchbanks from the Wizarding Examinations Authority. Or maybe it was Mundungus; it was awfully hard to tell.

As for himself, he knew people would be hard pressed to identify him. He'd applied the Blood Sucker-Upper from the twins, effectively hiding his scar, and Albus had turned his hair a nice shade of auburn. It wasn't a fool-proof disguise, but it should work well enough for the morning, especially since no one would be expecting him to attend.

After the coffin had been lowered into the ground and the final words had been spoken, most of the mourners made their way over to Albus and Harry to offer their condolences. Harry found this strange, for surely these people realized he wasn't related to the deceased. But then, he reasoned, he _had_ arrived with the Headmaster, a man who clearly had been a close friend. They'd even been seated in the front row.

He supposed, too, that the auburn hair and the glasses, not to mention the fact that he'd stayed rather close to the old man the entire time, led people to speculate on his identity and possible relation to Dumbledore. And there you have it – Harry Potter, the center of attention just by attending a funeral, and without anyone even knowing it was him to boot! He cynically wondered if this would have made the _Daily Prophet _if he'd been there sans disguise_._

When the group eventually scattered, and it was just the two of them and Molly Weasley standing at the foot of the new grave, Harry found himself tuning out the conversation to instead stare at the white marble stone two rows away. The green of the ivy he had left two days earlier was like a beacon, pulling his eyes back every time he tried to look away.

A light tapping on his shoulder got his attention, and he looked up to find two sets of eyes watching him closely. "Go," Albus quietly urged, indicating the graves with a nod of his head. "No one is left to question the visit, and Molly and I have a few things to discuss."

With a brisk nod of his head, and after bidding Molly goodbye (and getting a hearty hug in reply), Harry slowly made his way to his parents' graves. He knelt down in the grass, and absentmindedly traced his mother's name with his finger. "Hi again," he finally said, and this time it seemed much easier to talk. Maybe it was because this time he wasn't self conscious, or maybe because this time he stopped thinking about his parents in a physical sense, and just thought about their spirits.

Either way, he found himself telling them a bit about himself – his school work, his love of Quidditch, and especially his two best friends, who battled trolls and hags named Umbridge with him. He shared his love for Ginny with his Mum, and told his Dad about her beauty and lively spirit. He also told them of his plans for the old house, and he quite imagined they approved.

It was while he was explaining that he felt it was his duty to cherish and protect all that they had given him that an image popped into his head. _A golden cup, being cradled by a deranged woman – one who was promising to protect the cup at all cost._ And Harry just knew where she had put the cup; it was where everyone put their most valuable objects, where no one except Voldemort himself would dare try to rob.

Turning behind him he excitedly called out, "I know where the, ah, _it_ is … where she hid it. We need to go get it!"

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Did that seem short to you? It feels short.


	16. Going to the Chapel

Disclaimer - I actually forgot to write one for this chapter, so use your imagination and come up with it yourself. Just make sure it's somehow related to Harry Potter.

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**Chapter 16. Going to the Chapel**

Molly Weasley raised six very mischievous children; by necessity, she was adept at reading a situation and knowing immediately if it required her attention. Or, as in this case, her discretion. And it was clear to her that Harry had something major to discuss with his guardian; something he didn't want to discuss in front of her.

She said some hasty goodbyes – suddenly remembering a dire need to grocery shop – and departed, leaving the two alone in the graveyard. Harry and Albus were quick to follow her example and returned to Sarag's Glen, where Harry was eager to discuss his epiphany.

They had barely made it inside the door when Harry rounded on Albus and nearly exploded. "The cup … it's in Gringotts. I just know it is. It just kinda came to me, while I was talking. I was thinking about how precious everything my parents gave me is, and how I wanted to keep it safe, and it just hit me – where do people put things to keep them safe? They put them in their vault."

Albus chuckled, "It would appear we are of like minds on this. I have myself recently come to this very same conclusion. But in this instance, the knowledge is of little value in and of itself; unless of course you believe that we can just walk into Gringotts and ask to access the Lestrange vault?"

"No, I remember what happens to people that try to steal from Gringotts. They get in, but they can't get out." Harry recalled only too well his first trip to the goblin bank, and Griphook's glee as he described any would-be robber's fate. "Except … didn't Voldemort manage to break into your vault? So it can be done … or did he use dark magic?"

"Not exactly dark, I shouldn't think," Albus replied, "but then, he wasn't exactly human back then. I suspect he was able to leave his host body and enter the vault in a spiritual form. It is hard to imagine he would have been able to actually take anything in such a state, but it turned out to be a moot point, as he discovered the stone had already been removed."

"Yeah," Harry started, "about that. I've always wondered … you really meant for me to figure out about the stone, didn't you? I mean, you sent _Hagrid_ to get it, and anyone who's spent ten minutes with him knows he can't keep a secret. And there I was, just tagging along, taking everything in. I connected the break-in with Hagrid's withdrawal pretty quickly, you know."

"I remember your adventurous First Year quite clearly, Harry," Albus replied, "but I think we're getting a bit off track. The point I was trying to make was that we must plan carefully."

That certainly caught Harry's attention. "Plan carefully? You mean …," Harry drifted off, not sure he wanted to finish his thought.

"Trying to rob the goblins? Good heavens, no!" The look on Albus' face clearly showed how humorous he found the idea. "I don't think this old heart is up to your type of adventure. No, what I have in mind is a bit more underhanded than that. I prefer to say no more until I have the details worked out, but as I have already solicited the services of William Weasley, I am confident we can make our move well before we must return to Hogwarts."

After that not-so-subtle hint, Harry dropped the subject. The two enjoyed a late lunch together on the back patio, talking about such ordinary things as racing brooms, household cleaning charms, and oddly enough, whether tomatoes could make a tasty pudding (Albus was certain they would). Luncheon ended with Dobby bringing out a four-tier chocolate cake with mint ice cream frosting and a flaming sparkler sticking up from the top. The entire cake was decorated with the numeral "1", from tiny numbers circling each tier to an interesting blob that seemed to be made out of candies shaped like the numeral. Having seen Dobby's artwork before, Harry suspected this was supposed to be a picture of himself and Albus.

"Splendid," Albus announced, clapping his hands together. "It would seem our friend Dobby has remembered our anniversary."

The words took Harry by surprise, and it took a moment for him to figure out their meaning. Had it really been a year since he'd come to live with Albus? He supposed that would be about right. He hadn't really been in the best frame of mind back then, but he had to assume that Albus would have the date right. He glanced at the old man, who was absorbed in enjoying his cake. Thankfully, he hadn't noticed that Harry hadn't realized it was their anniversary.

As Harry enjoyed his own slice of the sinfully delicious cake, he thought about what the anniversary meant. He'd been part of a real family for a year now, with extended relatives and all. After all, Minerva was like his own personal version of Aunt Muriel, though not _quite_ as critical. And of course, there was the eccentric Uncle Abe. Speaking of which … "You know, I bet Uncle Abe would love this cake. We should have invited him; he's family too."

Albus took another bite of the cake before answering, a tactic Harry correctly identified as an attempt to buy some time. "Perhaps we should have invited Aberforth to our celebration, but I honestly do not think he would have come."

"Oh, is he feeling unwell again? It's not the Merlin's Curse, is it?"

"No, Harry, it is nothing of the sort," he assured the boy. "You see, recently Aberforth has noticed some of his best stock is being watered-down, no doubt by some industrious individual taking advantage of his recent absences. Naturally, he would like to capture the culprit without Ministry involvement." Seeing Harry's confused look, he elaborated, "Harry, not all of Aberforth's ventures are entirely of a lawful nature. I am afraid that charming goats is the least of my brother's crimes, though thankfully that is his only prosecuted offense. But I digress – my point is, Aberforth would rather not have Ministry Auror's inside his pub, and so he is determined to find the thief himself. He is unwilling to leave the bar until he has done so."

"Well, if the first year won't come to Hogwarts, then Hogwarts should go to the first year."

"I beg your pardon?" said Albus in that voice that was part question, part exclamation. "Why in heaven's name would we want to transport the castle to a reluctant student?"

"Er, never mind. I just meant, why don't we take him a piece of cake?" Harry could see that Albus wasn't too keen on the idea, so he decided to lay it on a bit thick. He'd just had the perfect idea, but it required convincing Albus to take him; he had a bit of rule-breaking to do, and he was certain Uncle Abe was the perfect accomplice. "Please? I haven't seen him in a while, and … I'm worried about him. What if he's not taking care of himself?"

Albus was initially unconvinced, but it only took Harry a little more begging to get his way and soon Harry was holding a picnic basket containing a large slice of their cake as he waited patiently for Albus to retrieve his cloak. As they left, Harry tossed on his invisibility cloak; and when they arrived, Albus held the door open perhaps a tad longer than necessary as he entered.

Uncle Abe never looked up from the pitcher he was filling as he barked out, "Usual room's available in the back, Headmaster."

The two got comfortable in Abe's private room, and before long the man himself joined them. "Well ain't this a surprise," he growled at his brother, but his voice took on a decidedly friendlier tone as he looked at his adopted nephew. "But a welcome surprise it 'tis, Harry. Wish you'd told me you were coming, I'd have cleaned up a bit for you."

Harry glanced around the room, thinking to himself that for a bachelor's pad, it wasn't too bad. Other than some dirty dishes stacked on the table and a pile of robes that looked like they were being used as a goat's bed, it wasn't all that dirty. But judging by the cleaning charm Albus applied to one of the chairs before sitting on it, he disagreed.

Setting the picnic basket on the table, Harry began unloading the sweet potato pie and cold ham that Dobby had snuck into it. "It's our family anniversary today, and I though you might like some cake," he said by way of explanation.

For a moment, it looked like Abe was going to be contrary, but he must have decided he was hungry because instead he took his seat and dug in. Of course, he ate the cake first, but Harry was pleased to see that he also finished off most of the food. Harry and Abe shared jokes and other small talk as the old man ate; Albus was quiet much of the time, only joining in when specifically addressed.

It was while Abe was telling a particularly inappropriate story about a two witches and a switching spell that Harry caught sight of something he'd have sworn he would never see. He'd glanced to his guardian, wondering why he wasn't putting a stop to the storytelling, when he saw it. Albus Dumbledore was fidgeting. His left knee was bouncing and he was obsessively smoothing the same spot on his robes despite the fact that it had been perfectly wrinkle-free since the moment he'd sat down. And more than that, he'd obviously tuned out the conversation, reminding Harry of himself any of the numerous times he'd been called to Snape's office to be lectured to.

Harry nudged Abe's foot under the table and motioned toward Albus with his head. With a sly smile, Abe lifted his hand and then slammed it on the table hard enough to make the dishes rattle. Albus jumped from his chair in surprise, his wand drawn and aimed at the table before Harry could even blink. Ignoring the wand pointing at him, Abe tossed his head back and laughed so hard he snorted. Harry had no doubt that Albus could put his brother in his place in a heartbeat, so he was proud of his guardian's restraint when Albus only shot a stream of water at this laughing brother.

Before the friendly fighting could turn not-so-friendly, Harry cut in and suggested that perhaps - since Albus wasn't enjoying the visit nearly as much as he himself was - Albus should take the opportunity to go check on the castle. Albus agreed a bit too quickly, giving Harry the impression that that's what he'd wanted to do tonight anyway. After all, Harry knew he'd only come to the pub to make Harry happy.

Shortly after Albus had left Abe pushed aside the remains of his lunch and brought out the firewhisky, which Harry for once declined. Abe was immediately suspicious, and Harry wasted no time in explaining his plan.

"It's like this, Uncle Abe. I, er," he paused here, deciding how much of the truth to give, "I plan to ask Ginny to marry me, but I don't know how to get to the jeweler's to buy a ring without _him_ knowing. Soooo …."

"So you were hoping that I could what, take you shopping? 'Cause that went over so well the last time we did it. At least you weren't likely to be recognized in Godric's Hollow – least not the part we went to. But here in Hogsmeade? You'd be spotted quicker than a troll at Madam Puddifoot's."

"Yeah," Harry agreed with a long sigh, "you're right. It's just … I need to get her a ring, ya know?" The room was quiet for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. "I suppose," Harry finally said, "that I could look in my vault and see if I have anything that I can use. I really wanted her to have something special though. Something that was new, just for her. She deserves better than a used wedding – I mean engagement – ring."

Abe looked at his nephew, who was doing the perfect imitation of a boy whose dog had just died. Shaking his head, he moved over to the unadorned dressing table and began pulling open drawers. Digging around, he talked loudly to be heard, "I understand not wanting to give her a used ring. That's a special lady you got yourself, and she deserves the best gold can buy."

"Exactly," Harry agreed, even as he wondered what the man was up to.

Abe abandoned the dressing table and started rummaging through an old trunk sitting near the bed. "I knew a girl like that once. Her name was Lenore, and she was more beautiful than a Veela in springtime. Dark brown eyes, and golden hair, and a smile that made my guts dance. And I fancied myself in love with her. I was, oh … about twenty-five, I reckon, and all alone. Albus wasn't around; see, this was after … well, after. I had moved here to Hogsmeade, was working at the old mine, and her father owned the local pub. This pub, as a matter of fact."

By this time, Abe had found what he was looking for – an old pea green wizard's hat, apparently – and he'd come over to sit across from Harry. "Lenore worked as the serving wench, and she would always bring me extra servings of stew and refill my pint for free. And we would spend hours talking, and on Sundays we would go hunting for Bicorns. I thought we would spend our lives together."

Abe grew quiet for a moment, and Harry didn't want to break the silence. Not only had he never seen this soft side to his gruff Uncle, but he was rather drawn into the story.

"We had four years together," Abe finally continued, "four bloody fantastic years. We talked about getting married - even agreed we wanted to eventually, but we were fools. I wanted to save money to buy a house, and she felt she couldn't leave her father. He was a weak wizard, see, and she worried about leaving him alone – worried that people might take advantage or do something to him – and I certainly couldn't fault her that. So we dated, and we talked about our future. And then … she died … just like that. Bad case of Boiling Blood; she never even knew what hit her, they said. And I was left alone again, with a vault full of money and an unused wedding ring."

He tipped the hat over and shook it. A small velvet box fell into his hand, and he reached out and placed the box into Harry's hands. "I know first hand that tomorrow may never come. If you don't want to wait to marry your little filly, I say, more power to ya."

Harry was caught by surprise at that, his eyes snapping up to Abe's face. And danged if the man's eyes didn't look like they were twinkling!

"Now, these rings ain't exactly _new_, you see, but they are unused. And I think maybe your young lady is just special enough to wear them."

Harry flipped the lid open and examined the rings. The biggest and brightest was the engagement ring, with its emerald-cut diamond sitting snugly between two similarly cut, though smaller, sapphires. The stones were just big enough to be noticeable without being so large as to look pretentious or be cumbersome. Nestled into the box next to this was another ring, this one just a narrow band of gold. Separated from them was a third ring, also a plain gold band, but thicker and wider for a man's finger.

He took the diamond ring out of the box and held it up, watching the light reflect off the surface. "This is beautiful, Uncle Abe. Better than that, it's perfect." Turning to look at Abe, he continued, "It's not what I had pictured, but … this is the ring I want for Ginny. How … how much do you want for them?"

The old man crinkled his face as he responded, "You think I would try to make money off my own kin?" He spat on the floor just to get his point across. "I ain't wanting your money for those rings. I just want to see them being used."

"I appreciate that, really I do," Harry insisted. He tore his eyes away from the glittering stones to look his Uncle in the eye. "But I can't just take these from you, that wouldn't be right. So please, let me pay you for them."

"Nope, I flat out ain't takin' you're gold. But," he slyly added, "I'll tell you what I will do. I'll barter ya for them."

"Barter? You mean, like trade? But what do I have that you could possibly want?"

"What indeed," Abe replied, and Harry was suddenly a bit weary of the look in Abe's eyes, which just now reminded him of the Weasley twins. "What you have, Harry, ain't so much a thing as it is an opportunity. I'll give you those rings, for the right fair price of one prank on my dear brother Albus."

"You want me to-to prank your brother," Harry sputtered.

"Aye, and not just any prank. You ever notice how close him and Minnie are? Well, I've always wanted to get them a special Christmas present, ya might say. And now I've got myself an inside man. This Christmas, I want you to catch my dear brother and Minnie under the mistletoe – and it's got to be in front of students. No putting it in his office, or any such nonsense. I'd prefer if it were at the Head Table, but I'll leave the details to you. Just so long as Hogsmeade's abuzz with it the next day. What do you say … one harmless little prank for the perfect wedding ring for your lady ... deal?"

Harry hesitated. Pranks weren't really his thing; but he supposed he could draft Fred and George, who likely would jump at the chance to get their former Headmaster. He looked down at the engagement ring, already picturing it on Ginny's left hand. He had to have this ring for her. "Alright, deal."

Abe proposed sealing their deal with a drink, and as he got the glasses and bottle around Harry carefully placed the ring back into its box, which he shoved safely into his over-sized pocket. Much relieved that he was one step closer to being ready for the big day, Harry tossed back his entire drink in one swallow.

As the hours slipped by, Abe loosened up as he drank cup after cup of the burning whiskey. The topic of the night seemed to be women Abe had loved – both literally, in Lenore's case, or figuratively, in the case of Madam Pince. Apparently, the librarian was very _passionate_ about her books, and Harry didn't think he ever wanted to be alone in the library again.

At one point, a Hogwarts house-elf had popped into the room with a tray of sandwiches, cheeses, and fresh fruit. Harry switched from whiskey to tea as he picked at the food, and he even convinced Abe to have a few bites. It was nearing ten o'clock when Albus finally came to retrieve Harry, by which time Abe was drunk enough to fly without a broomstick. With Harry's help, Albus put his younger brother to bed, and then he led the way so they could apparate home.

The next morning at breakfast Harry was surprised to see Pig fly in with a package. The crazy little owl swooped down close to Harry, but misjudged and the package dangling from his leg slammed into Harry's glass, spilling water everywhere. Biting back the choice words that were in his throat, Harry relieved the bird of its burden before sending it on its way, sans treat. Thankfully, Dobby had quickly cleaned the table, and he was able to put the box down to open it.

Inside was a tin of home-made fudge (which he sampled before setting aside); another full of what smelled like rum balls; the dress robes Harry had worn to the wedding, cleaned and patched to practically as good as new; and three letters. The first two – from Ron and Ginny – he set aside as he opened the third, which was from Molly.

_Dear Harry,_

_I cannot thank you enough for allowing us to use your house while ours in inaccessible. As much as I miss my own home, it is such a relief to know that my family is with me and safe. Even the twins have moved in temporarily – you and I both know that Diagon Alley just isn't a safe place to live right now._

_I also believe I have you to thank – and Albus too – for the gold that mysteriously appeared in our vault two days ago. I really didn't know what we were going to do when Arthur said we couldn't risk unsealing the house. Everything we have is there. Our boys were tremendously helpful getting us through those first few days, but there is so much to replace, and they all have expenses of their own! So I will thank you for now; but know that that some day, some how, we will repay you. Perhaps our daughter's hand in marriage would suffice?_

_Just joking, Harry, so don't you dare get any ideas! As a small token of my gratitude, I've sent along some treacle fudge for you and my famous Yummy-Rummy balls for Albus._

_Take care,_

_Mother Molly_

Harry handed the second tin to Albus as he shared Molly's thanks, but before they were able to discuss much else a Hogwarts house-elf chose that moment to pop in and inform the Headmaster that he was needed at the school. Albus headed out immediately, leaving Harry to once again entertain himself for the morning. Albus was back right after lunch, and he didn't return empty handed. From an inside pocket, and with much flourish, he handed Harry an unusually thick envelope.

It was Harry's school letter, and he couldn't help but wonder what surprises it held. He glanced toward his guardian but Albus' face was uncharacteristically blank, so no clues there.

Harry had been working in the separate library area of their great family room when Albus had arrived, and he shoved his papers aside so he could dump the contents onto the desk he was sitting at – the one Minerva normally used that faced Albus' own desk. Onto the desktop fell two folded sheets of parchment, the Captain's badge, and another, smaller envelope. First he picked up the parchment, unfolding them and reading the first page. It listed his normal grades, which were all 'E's and 'O's, as well as his official N.E.W.T. results.

Minerva had already told him he'd received an Outstanding on his Care of Magical Creatures exam, but he was still relieved to see it with his own eyes. Setting that page aside, he looked over his supply list for next year, and spotted something unusual. Or at least, something he hadn't seen since Fourth Year – dress robes. Looking over at Albus, who was making quite the production out of sharpening a quill, he asked about the robes. But no matter how much pestering he did, Albus would only respond that he could "neither confirm nor deny that there would be another Yule Ball". Harry, however, was able to read between the twinkles, and made immediate plans to invite Ginny to the ball the next time he saw her in person.

Setting the pages aside, he picked up his Quidditch Captain's badge. Last year, the job had initially gone to Katie Bell, but he'd inherited it when she'd been hurt in that weird Imperius incident. They never solved that one, but Harry had always suspected Draco Malfoy of the deed. Well, Katie was healed and Malfoy was dead, so he supposed there was no point in dwelling on it any longer. He'd started to put the badge down when he noticed a small note stuck to the back. In handwriting that somehow mimicked her strict tone, the note read 'I will NOT take no for an answer, Potter.'

Harry outright laughed as he set the badge aside to pick up the other envelope. It was addressed to 'Mister Harry Potter – Seventh Year', and the seal on the back was the familiar Hogwart's logo. Not giving it much thought, he ripped it open and yanked out the letter inside, causing something else to go flying through the air. Harry watched the object, another badge, as it landed face up on the floor. His jaw nearly dropped as he recognized the design – how could he forget Percy strutting around the Burrow wearing one just like it? _'Well, not _just _like it. No twins to charm this one.'_

It was the badge leaping off the floor and flying back toward him that brought Harry back to the present. Looking over, he found Albus directing the badge with his wand, a huge smile upon his face. The man spoke before Harry had the chance, saying "You earned it, Harry, so do not dare to think otherwise. You are a fine leader, your classmates respect you" (he ignored the snorting noise in the background as he continued) "and you have finally mastered that delicate balance between academics and extra-curriculars. Of course, being a Hogwarts Champion and winning the Tri-wizard tournament didn't hurt. And too, your most unique relationship with Hogwarts herself made you the perfect choice, not that the committee knew about that aspect."

Harry knew that many would think he'd been given the badge solely because of his perceived relationship with Albus – and heaven forbid if it became known who his guardian was – but the man's words made sense. As he recalled everything he'd done over the years, he came to the shocking conclusion that he _had_ earned the badge. He found his voice enough to say, "I … thank you, Seba. Thanks for believing in me."

The rest of the day was filled writing to his friends with his news and reading their letters recapping their own grades. He was surprised when Hermione's letter didn't mention Head Girl - she must not have been named his counter-part! In his excitement, he'd completely forgotten to ask Albus who'd been named. Over dinner, Harry learned the honor went to Padma Patil. It had been Albus' opinion that Hermione would be too busy, not to mention that a Head Girl from another house would help bolster unity.

Over pudding Harry set his latest plan into action by all but begging Albus to let him invite Ginny for a visit, claiming that he wanted her to see where they lived. Laying it on, he added that with her family now living at Grimmauld Place she really needed the chance to get out in the fresh air and fly. If Albus noticed that Harry didn't appear to have the same concern for best friend Ron, he didn't say. Secretly, Harry wanted to give Ginny her engagement ring, and the two had some major planning to do if they were really going to elope later this summer.

Eventually Albus acquiesced, and one short floo-call later it was arranged that Ginny would visit this Friday. Minerva, who just happened to be at headquarters during the call, had agreed to play chauffer.

Harry headed to bed early that night so he and Ginny could discuss her upcoming trip. Not that there was a lot to plan for this trip, but they did share some ideas for their other summer trip. Ginny also filled Harry in on what life was like inside Grimmauld Place now that the Weasleys were living there. Remus seemed to spend a lot of time there, which led to Tonks spending a lot of time there. It happened way too often to be coincidence, no matter what they claimed. In fact, they were so inept at hiding their feelings that the twins were taking bets on when the wedding would be. Ginny had her money on August 31st; Harry thought Remus was too cautious to move that fast, and asked her to put him down for Christmas Eve.

According to Ginny, the family had adjusted to the move easily enough. Ron actually called it a blessing. In front of Hermione, he would loudly bemoan his lost summer homework, but when she wasn't around, he gloated that he was glad he hadn't bother to start it, as it would have been wasted time. "You should've seen his face," she'd laughed, "when he got a box from Percy containing all his old N.E.W.T. text books."

"Everything inside the Burrow is perfectly safe according to Dad," she'd said toward the end of their talk. "It'll all be exactly as we left it when the house is unsealed, except the food, which won't have spoiled exactly, but won't be edible either. And just between you and I," she added, dropping her voice to a whisper, "I think he's a bit relieved that the family clock got left behind. Mum was getting a bit obsessed with watching it – carrying it with her from room to room, and I think she even tried to take it to bed with them a time or two."

Promising to talk again soon, Harry signed off for the night, glad that the family was taken care of and that he'd had the house for them to use.

The problem was, now that he knew he'd be seeing her on Friday, Thursday lasted _forever_. Albus was gone all day, busy at the Wizengamot, where trials were under way for the Death Eaters captured during the school invasion. Harry wasn't called as a witness – none of the students were – and on one hand, that was just fine with him. Albus had explained it was an open-and-shut case, with more than enough witnesses already, and so there had been no need to bother the schoolchildren. Harry would have been offended by that description, but since it meant he didn't have to testify, he accepted it with a smile.

But at the same time, giving testimony would have been far more interesting than the gardening he'd chosen to do to fill the day. And the house cleaning – he'd wanted his room to be perfect in case Ginny wanted to see it.

Dinner that night wasn't so bad, probably because Albus had invited a guest. Kingsley Shacklebolt was coming for a working supper, and Harry hoped listening to them talk strategy would help the time fly.

If Kingsley was surprised by Harry's attendance, he did a remarkable job of hiding it. In fact, his only comment was to ask if The Skipper was going to appear, and he seemed genuinely disappointed to be told it would just be the three of them. Apparently, there were some interesting stories going around the Order about the eccentric but reclusive man.

Going over some of the testimony from earlier that day, Kingsley mentioned what a shame it was that Fenrir Greyback, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Amycus Carrow had escaped. Fortunately three other invaders – Macnair, Rowle, and Alecto Carrow – had gone straight from Hogwarts to Azkaban (or in Alecto's case, straight from St. Mungo's), and that's where they'd remained.

Harry was relieved to hear that all three were expected to get convicted and receive life-time sentences. In his mind, the real trick was going to be keeping them in jail. As talk of the trial wound down and turned to more mundane Ministry matters, Harry let his mind wander to tomorrow … and Ginny … who for some reason he imaged wearing a skimpy blue bikini. The next time he paid any attention to the conversation, Kingsley was saying his goodbyes. Harry waited until he was gone, then called it an early night and headed upstairs.

Finally, Friday morning arrived; and with it, Ginny. Oh, and Minerva, too. Harry enthusiastically greeted his girlfriend at the front door, dragging her inside and giving her a quick tour of the downstairs. Like Harry, she loved the great room with its distinct sections. She spent a few minutes perusing the many books in the work area behind the railing, raising an eyebrow at the setup of twin desks facing each other. Harry merely shook his head in response, unwilling to discuss his theory on Albus' relationship with their Head of House.

In the main part of the room, Ginny surprised Harry by forgoing the mismatched furniture on the right-hand side of the room (which Harry preferred, as it reminded him of the Burrow). Instead, she chose to sit on one of the carved wood and leather couches on the other side of the room. Harry rarely sat there – the area had a formal, unused feel to it – but when Ginny sat down, he immediately took the spot next to her and was comfortable in seconds. But the sounds of heels on the slate entryway reminded them that there were two adults present, and Harry told Ginny to grab her broom and follow him outside.

Once in the back yard, he turned her around and pointed to the castle in the distance. It took her a couple of hints, but she eventually recognized it. "You have _got_ to be kidding me," she explained. "You live _with the Headmaster_ and his house is _behind the school_? Somehow, I'm not surprised. It makes sense, really it does. Of course the Headmaster lives at the school."

"Not exactly, Ginny," Harry laughed as he explained. "The house belongs to him. The fact that it's near the school is just a coincidence. But it does sorta fit his image, doesn't it. Wait till you see the best part – hop on your broom and follow me."

The teens mounted their brooms and flew toward the school. They kept a leisurely pace, talking and laughing as they followed March Lane to the abandoned school gate. As they approached, Harry veered into the meadow where he normally flew with Hedwig. Sure enough, there she was, perched on a low branch of a nearby tree. Ginny had also caught sight of her, and moved closer and greeted the owl as if she were talking to a friend. Harry laughed at Ginny's behavior, and doubly so when Hedwig hooted as if in response.

They flew around for a while, playing chase and follow-the-leader, before landing to take a break. There was a picnic blanket and basket laid out near the gate, which Harry was sure Dobby had delivered without them noticing. Part of him was suspicious, but one quick look inside the basket confirmed their benefactor – Dobby had left a note. It was very hard to read, but Harry was at least able to make out the signature.

As they ate, Harry explained the history of the area; how Hogwarts had originally had a separate gate for the Muggle-born students and visitors, which had been permanently closed when Hogsmeade was built. He added Albus' warning not to touch the gate for fear to being transported to the Himalayas. Ginny didn't look like she fully believed him – in fact, she looked like she was itching to test the warning – but she finally nodded and turned away.

They walked hand-in-hand to the gatehouse, where Harry opened the door with a flourish, as if he was showing her a grand ballroom instead of an abandoned hovel. He allowed Ginny to enter the small room first, then led her to the closet door in the back. As before, he could _feel_ the castle's magic calling him. Holding onto Ginny with his left hand, he used his right to open the door. Ginny gave him a strange look, because normally when a boy led a girl to a broom cupboard he was doing it for one reason, but he just laughed and pulled her inside. Closing the door tightly, he did take advantage and steal a quick kiss.

He pulled away from Ginny, a cheeky grin on his face as he re-opened the door. As expected, they exited the closet, not into the old gatehouse, but the Hogwart's chapel. Ginny's expression was priceless, causing Harry to laugh out loud, something he'd done a lot today. He let her lead the way as she walked through the abandoned sanctuary, and helped by pointing out the various animal carvings that represented the Founders. Like Harry had done last summer, she also checked outside and confirmed she was in fact inside school grounds.

With a mischievous grin, Ginny returned to the chapel and made her way to the altar. Harry dutifully followed. Once they were both standing at the altar, Ginny reached down and flipped to the front of the bible which was lying there, just waiting to be read. On the inside cover, in script so fancy it was almost hard to decipher, was written:

_In honour of the Dedication of our Most Holy Sanctuary_  
_A Record of Our Worshipful Celebrations_  
_1095_

Harry had been reading over her shoulder, and after seeing the dedication he randomly opened the bible to a page near the middle. Sure enough, it was written in Latin. Ginny shrugged her shoulders to indicate that she'd lost interest in the book, and began to step away when Harry grabbed her arm to stop her.

"I've got an idea, Gin," he said, and his smile told her that she would probably like what she was about to hear. "Let's practice for when we get to Gretna Green."

"What," she asked, "you mean, like our vows or something?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Why not?" It was a romantic gesture, sure to earn him points. As he'd expected, her eyes light up as she readily agreed. They stayed there, behind the altar, and held each others hands as they waited. Ginny broke the silence with a nervous giggle, and asked if he had any ideas on how to start.

"Well, I think they usually start by asking if anyone objects."

"Harry, we're _eloping_," she responded. "The whole point is so there won't be anyone there _to_ object."

"Oh, right. Well, I'll just start then. Ah ...," he paused to clear his throat, "I … Harry James Potter, take the lovely Ginevra Molly Weasley to be my wife. I promise to love her and take care of her, an–ouch, you didn't have to kick me – I meant always treat her as an equal, which of course she is," he paused for a second, and Ginny nodded in approval to the change. "And, er … oh yeah, whether rich or poor, sick or healthy, for now and forever. Amen … I think."

Ginny laughed at his uncertain ending, saying "Honestly, Harry. It's supposed to be 'till death do us part'. Everyone knows that."

"Nope," he shook his head, "I like mine better. I plan on you always being by my side, even in _The Next Great Adventure._" He suddenly dropped her hands as he reached into his pocket. "Oh, I almost forgot, you're supposed to get a ring now, right?" Taking her left hand, he pushed on the engagement ring. "There. Your turn now."

"Oh, Harry," Ginny gushed as she stared at the ring. Harry gave her hand, which was still grasped in his, a light squeeze, and she eventually tore her eyes away from the ring and looked back to his face. Smiling, she said, "Right, my turn."

In a strong, confident voice, she said, "I, Ginevra Molly Weasley take you, Harry James Potter, scruffy hair, bad eyes and all, as my husband. I promise to love you, take care of you … oh, and remind you that I am your equal when you forget. And when the time comes, I _will_ help you get rid of vo—Voldemort, for good this time, in any way you will let me." She gave him a wide grin as she added, in a sing-song voice, "whether richer, poorer, sicker, healthier, now and forever."

Caught up in the moment, she practically jumped into his arms, and it was probably just luck that Harry didn't lose his balance and fall over. He looked down at the red-head in his arms and gave her his best stern glare.

But Ginny only laughed as she said, "I think this is where someone is supposed to pronounce us man and wife."

"Right," he agreed, and he turned his head to face the empty pews. "Doesn't seem to be anyone available at the moment. How about we just agree to it amongst ourselves?"

"Fine," she said, "but I think we definitely need to practice the next part."

"Next part?" he asked, wondering what they'd missed.

"You're supposed to kiss me now, you idiot!"

And he leaned forward and did just that.

Maybe it was his imagination, but the moment their lips touched, he thought he could hear the deep tones of a great bell chiming … could see the nearby candles flare up … could feel a spark of energy, beginning where their lips met and shooting clear down to his toes. Albus would no doubt tell him it was a magical kiss, full of love and promises and a long life together. And it was better than anything he'd read about in any of his romance novels.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Head boy may be fandom cliché, but it also makes perfect sense. The castle _loves_ him, and he's worked to defend the school multiple times. And really, some things are done in fandom so often because they're good ideas, don't you think?


	17. The Missing Cup

Disclaimer: If you recognize it from the original books, I don't own it. If you recognize it from my stories, I guess maybe I do.

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**Chapter 17. The Missing Cup**

The wayward teens returned to the cottage looking none the worse for their adventure, except for maybe some dust and wrinkles on their clothes, a sparkle in their eyes, and a bubbling happiness that seemed to radiate off them. It would have been hard for the adults to miss, but since they headed straight into the kitchen for refreshments, they didn't run into any.

They lounged against the counter discussing their school letters and grades over glasses of milk and Dobby's Surprise Cocoa biscuits, when the subject of dress robes came up. Harry told Ginny that he was 99.9 percent certain there was going to be a dance, and true to his plan, he immediately invited her to be his date. Ginny burst into giggles, reminding him that by the time they got back to school they would be married, so she bloody well better be his date.

The two finally made their way into the grand room, where Minerva was working at her usual desk. Harry noted she was looking her schoolishly stern self, which he guessed was for Ginny's benefit, as Minerva normally relaxed and let her hair down – literally – when she was at the cottage. The old man was noticeably absent.

Hardly looking up from her work, she explained, "Albus was called away for a meeting with Bill Weasley – something about solving a riddle with the goblins? In any event, I have agreed to stay until his return." She finally set her quill aside and turned her full attention to the teens. "Miss Weasley … Ginny … I will be taking you back to headquarters after dinner. I trust the two of you can stay out of trouble until our meal is served?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry assured her. "We're just going up to my room so I can show Ginny my dress robes."

Minerva gave them her sternest glare. "You be sure that is _all _you show her, Mister Potter."

Having sudden flash-backs to their parent-professor meeting last year, both teens blushed as they quickly escaped the room. They climbed the stairs and Harry pointed the way to his room. He stayed in the doorway as she entered and meandered around, checking the views from the windows and fingering the knickknacks. "It's nice," she commented as she set down his framed picture of her, "all homey and warm." This pleased Harry immensely; he really wanted to live here after they were married.

Ginny finished her tour by settling onto the bed, leaning against the headboard. She probably said something at that point, but Harry's mind was stuck on the idea that Ginny was in his bed. Shaking what must've been a goofy grin off his face, he moved into the room and kicked the door shut. It moved about half-way before springing back open. Confused, he tried again, but the effect was the same. He even gave it a shove with his hands, and got knocked in the knuckles for the effort. No doubt about it, that door was not going to close.

Ignoring Ginny's snickering laugh, he moved to his closet and pulled out the steel gray dress robes he'd purchased last year. At Ginny's urging, he pulled them on over his clothes, and was pleased to find that with minimal alterations, they would fit fine. Ginny was rambling on about how she was certain she could get something that would not only work for the ball, but could double as wedding dress, but he just shook his head.

He grabbed up something from his desk and walked over to her, and offered what was in his hand – a small tarnished key. She looked at it for a moment, before turning her attention back to him with a questioning look on her face.

Grinning, he explained. "It's my vault key. You need it so you can buy yourself the perfect dress for our wedding. I mean, your mum might get suspicious if you pick out white robes for a winter ball, right? And, I was just thinking … when you go, why don't you take some extra money. You know, for perfumes or jewelry or whatever … enough for the wedding and the ball."

"Harry, that's really nice, but I don't think that –"

"Gin stop. You do realize that in less than a month we are getting married, which means that in less than a month, its pretty much yours anyway?"

She did stop at that, and Harry could almost see her mind working as she tipped her head to the side in thought. Eventually, she straightened her head as she thanked him for loaning her the key.

"Oh, one other thing," he hesitantly added. "Much as I love seeing that ring on your finger—"

"We'd both rather you keep your body parts intact," she finished with a smirk.

"Pretty much, yeah." Using his wand, he summoned a simple gold chain from his desk.

Ginny knew where this was going, and with a loud sigh and one last loving look at the ring, she slipped it off her finger and placed it in his outstretched hand. With a quick swirl from his wand, the perfect circle of the ring twisted and stretched into a disproportionate figure eight, its upper loop empty so as to fit on the chain. The diamond and other stones turned themselves sideways and changed in appearance from glittering to dull and lifeless. The end appearance was that of a common and very cheap necklace. Harry carefully placed the chain around Ginny's neck, and a quick unbreakable charm protected it.

They spent the rest of the time before dinner making plans for their trip to Gretna Green. As luck would have it, Harry had been invited to stay with the Weasleys after his birthday, and they were sure they could sneak out of Grimmauld Place without too much trouble.

When Minerva appeared in the doorway to fetch them for dinner, she was pleased to find Ginny seated on the cushioned chair and Harry stretched out on the floor nearby. As best as she could tell, they were playing some sort of card game that mostly involved sticking your tongue out (Ginny) and tickling the other person's feet (Harry). Ginny was the first to notice Minerva, and when she did she tossed the rest of her cards in Harry's direction and declared victory. She hoped off the bed and followed her teacher downstairs, leaving Harry to pick up the cards.

As they were sitting down at the dinner table a message came in from Kingsley – it was addressed to Albus but Minerva showed no qualms in opening the scroll. Harry watched as her scowl turned into a smile, a genuine smile that softened her entire face. "Good news, Professor?" he asked.

"The very best, Harry," she said, waving the letter in front of her. "Albus had told me to keep an eye out for this. You'll both be pleased to know that the trial is over."

"And?" Harry prompted when she didn't continue. He hated when she played this game – not to mention it really drove home just how much time she spent with his guardian.

"Guilty – the lot of them. It's to be lifetime imprisonment for those thugs, and good riddance to bad rubbish, I say." She lifted the wine glass that had just appeared in front of her, and raised it in a silent toast.

Harry raised his own (and prodded Ginny to do the same), and with a slight bow of his head, he took a sip of the wine. It was a tart drink, kind of yellowish in color with a strong spicy smell, and its pleasant taste took him by surprise.

"Professor?" he questioned, remembering her extreme displeasure when he'd gotten drunk last summer.

"It's one glass of wine, Harry," she replied, smirking, "and your birthday is less than a week away. I think we can risk it."

Across the table, he could see Ginny wrinkling her nose as she tried to decide whether or not to taste her own drink, which was decidedly darker in color. _'looks like apple juice'_

"Well then, here's to hoping they can keep 'em there this time," Harry said, raising his own glass in salute.

"I'll drink to that," Minerva agreed as she too took a second drink.

This time Ginny also had a sip – just a taste really. Based on her disgruntled face, Harry guessed hers really was juice.

"Did Kingsley give you any details," Harry wanted to know as he began his meal.

"I suppose if I don't tell you now Albus will just tell you later," she deduced, but Harry could tell she was more amused then upset. "Very well. As you know, Albus was excluded from actively participating in the trial as he was deemed too involved in the invasion, so Kingsley included a summary report of the transcript. It's pretty dry reading. Rowle – he's that big blonde imbecile that Ginny and her brother were kind enough to help capture," she paused to raise her glass in Ginny's direction, "he was found guilty of committing acts of terrorism, attempting to harm minor magical children, and unlawful entry. Apparently, being a colossal dimwit isn't against the law," she wryly added, "much to Professor Snape's eternal lament, I'm sure. It's 'acts of terrorism' that's the most serious charge – it's the one charge Minister Bluestreak was most insistent upon. It's got a fifty-year minimum sentence, and he's stated that all captured Death Eaters will face that charge."

Harry rather liked the idea that being a Death Eater, in and of itself, had basically been declared an act of terrorism. Maybe that would dissuade the next Draco Malfoy from signing up.

"Rowle's sentence was the most lenient – and it was an even hundred years in Azkaban. Alecto Carrow and that turncoat Macnair faced additional charges. Carrow of course had outstanding warrants as far back as the first war, and Macnair kidnapped a student – "she gave another nod in Harry's direction "- from the school and openly attacked Muggles. Both received life sentences." She raised her glass one last time and quietly added, "may God have mercy on their souls, for I surely don't." And with that sentiment voiced, she drained her glass.

Harry and Ginny drank to that, although Ginny was quick to set aside her juice when she was done. Looking to her professor, she hesitantly asked, "Is there any word on the trials for Crabbe and Nott, Professor?"

"I don't have an exact date, but I know they will be held some time in August. Mrs. Nott insisted they be held early enough so that her son can still enroll for next year. She seems to think he will be found innocent."

Harry couldn't stop himself from snorting. "If Fudge was still in office, I'd probably agree," he explained, "but with Bluestreak in charge, I'm hoping for a conviction."

"Aren't we all," Minerva asked, lifting her refilled wine glass for another sip. "But surely we can think of more pleasant dinner conversation? Why don't you two tell me what you've been up to today?"

Harry smiled as he told her about using the passageway to the chapel, of course being careful not to mention what they'd done there. The rest of the meal passed easily once Ginny stopped being self-conscious; she even picked up a few pointers to make her housework easier. For her part, Ginny had been torn between gratitude for the help and surprise that her stern teacher was apparently encouraging her to use magic over the summer. But she supposed it was no secret that with all the adults constantly popping into her temporary home, no one would be able to detect any magic she used.

By the time the food and lessons were finished, Minerva had finished her second glass of wine. Harry was still nursing his first. Nodding toward the glass, Minerva asked, "Is the wine not to your taste, Harry?"

"What … oh, no, it's fine. I just. I promised Seba that I wouldn't accidentally get drunk with a professor again, so I thought …"

"You thought you'd best not risk it," she finished for him. "Smart man. Now then," she said, standing from her seat, "while I go freshen up, why don't you say goodbye to Ginny so I can take her home."

Harry took the hint and walked Ginny to the front door for a private moment, pulling away just as Minerva arrived. She actually sent Harry to clean up his room while she took Ginny home. She'd explained that she thought he needed something to keep him occupied; and he hadn't objected. It was kinda nice to have someone mothering him.

Bedtime rolled around and Albus was still absent so Minerva decided she'd stay, and she headed up to her usual room. Harry wished her a good night as he settled onto his favorite sofa with a good book. He was far too curious about his guardian's strange message – which he was certain had to do with finding one of Voldemort's hiding places – to get to sleep.

Albus didn't return until nearly midnight, but when he did, his triumphant face told Harry his trip had been a success. The soft glow in his cheeks hinted that perhaps Albus had already celebrated. Over bowls of ice cream Albus filled Harry in on what he'd done after finalizing the transfers for the convicted invaders.

"I am happy to say I have managed to gather everything needed for our next expedition. It took quite a bit of leg work," he explained between spoonfuls of his chocolate and cherry mix-up. "I nearly got lost in the Ministry Hall of Unimportant Records when I turned left at the bust of Lysander Leach instead of right at the portrait of Richard the Wrongful, but I found my way in the end. Then of course, I had to read through several old goblin treaties to find exactly what we need. And let me tell you, if you think Professor Binns is boring, you should try reading the actual treaties some time."

Eyes sparkling as if he'd just given away a great secret, he leaned back in his seat and continued, "As if all of that wasn't trying enough, Aberforth was not in a giving mood, to put it nicely. Word of warning, Harry – if you do not specifically hear my brother invite you to enter, do not open his door." Suddenly looking like he'd eaten sour milk, Albus set his snack aside. He reached into one of his pockets and withdrew a familiar flask, from which he took a healthy swig before offering it to Harry, who politely declined.

Instead he asked, "So we're really going to get the cup?"

"Yes indeed," Albus replied, much too cheerfully. "I don't want to overstate our position, but I believe things are looking up for us. I have great confidence that we will soon have the cup, leaving only Slytherin's locket and Tom's award, and we can be rid of Tom Riddle once and for all."

Harry couldn't help but smile. Things were set; they were going to Gringotts Monday to get Hufflepuff's cup.

-000-

It had been Bill Weasley's suggestion that they make their move at a time when the goblins were usually short-handed or backlogged. Following that advice, right after breakfast Monday morning Albus sent Harry back to his room to change into some borrowed robes.

When Harry had first heard he'd be masquerading as someone else, he'd all but begged to appear as Snape. Albus had refused; which was probably just as well, because it wouldn't be a smart move to run around kidding Albus and cracking jokes when appearing as Snape. Not to mention what the surly man would have done in retaliation if he'd ever discovered the masquerade.

So naturally, Harry had wondered who he would be today. Spotting a set of very familiar robes on his bed, he shook his head as he chuckled. He was going to be his own favorite Uncle today, if the stained and torn robes were any indication. Stepping closer, he noticed that they even smelled of Brian. Harry pulled the over-sized robes on over his equally large jeans and shirt (the last set of Dudley's old clothes he owned), grateful for the barrier between his skin and the less-than-clean cloth. A scuffed-up pair of dark brown boots had also been provided, and he had to resist the temptation to wear extra socks, which would probably make them too tight after he'd transformed. He settled for using the strongest cleaning charm he'd learned on the insides of them.

Fully costumed, he cautiously made his way down the steps, holding the railing tightly lest he trip on the too-big robes or boots. Albus was waiting for him in the foyer with an amused look on his face. For his part, the Headmaster was dressed in his usual colorful manner. Today's ensemble was a scarlet robe with grey pinstripes, which looked like a wizards attempt at a muggle business suit, albeit in velour. If only the pointy hat, done in the reverse of grey with scarlet stripes, hadn't been there. And was that a small silver star dangling from the tip of the hat?

Standing next to Albus, Harry couldn't help but feel his drab brown robes somehow looked even dirtier than before. Albus handed Harry a plain flask of polished nickel, and with a grimace the boy took a swig of the thick black brew it held. It tasted strongly of burnt liver and onions, with just a hint of sandy grit to it.

Just before he started to change, Harry remembered to pull off his glasses, which he tucked into an inside pocket along with the flask. The creepy, bubbly sensation of morphing into another person passed quickly enough, and he accepted the new pair of glasses being held out to him. Sliding the lop-sided half-moon frames onto his face, Harry glanced at the hall mirror and his jaw nearly dropped.

"What's the matter, dearie? Expecting to be Prince Charming," the mirror sarcastically asked, even as Harry studied the reflection. Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore were standing side by side, looking both similar and different in that strange way that brothers sometimes do. Sure, they had the same bright blue eyes and similar hair, although Abe's was as dingy and scraggly looking as his clothes. And funny how he'd never before noticed that Uncle Abe was actually the taller of the two.

Setting off for their next adventure together, the two left the cottage and made short work of their trip to Gringotts. Standing near the marble entryway to the bank, Albus quietly reminded Harry to follow his lead and remember his part, which meant to act like Abe would act. In other words, be contrary to Albus. Harry was pretty sure he could pull it off; goodness knew he'd refereed the two enough times.

The two brothers made their way into the bank; Albus walking proud and with purpose and Abe trailing behind, seeming completely unimpressed with it all. As had been arranged, Bill Weasley was waiting for them near one of the front counters. He greeted the Headmaster warmly before turning his attention to the other man. Abe got a quick, almost polite hello while being looked over critically, and Harry wondered what Bill had been told about his identity.

Pleasantries completed, Bill asked Albus if he'd brought the papers – whatever those were – and in reply Albus partially removed a rolled parchment from his front pocket. Nodding, Bill led the two to a dark alcove empty except for a battered old desk sitting at a funny angle due to a missing leg. If there was a single spot in the main hall furthest away from busy counter area, Harry thought, they were currently standing in it.

Once they were in the alcove, Bill leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, clearly waiting for something to happen. Albus was his normal calm self, spending his time inspecting the carvings one of the desk's remaining legs.

Harry stood as far in the shadows as possible, sure that Abe wouldn't want to be spotted with his brother in public. Unlike the other two, he was very much aware of every minute that ticked by. He patted his side pocket, relieved to feel the flask in its depths. Harry suspected he would be doing that a lot this morning. No matter what Albus had said, he couldn't help but think that what they were about to do would most certainly be considered thievery if they were caught.

The three waited in silence, which only made the wait seem longer. Bill finally interrupted the peace, speaking in a hushed tone. "I should probably warn you to be on guard the next time you see mum," he said to Albus. "She's bound to want to thank you. Can't stop going on about Harry being named Head Boy. Third in the family, you see," he added, and Harry had to stop himself from responding. "The poor boy … mum's going to squeeze him to death next time she sees him."

Albus nodded, clearly agreeing with Bill's assessment of the situation, while Harry tried his best to pretend he (as Abe) didn't care. The other two shared a bit more small talk, but Harry ignored them, instead watching all the witches and wizards fluttering around the bank. Ten long minutes later, Harry heard a clanking noise reminiscent of the sound Fake Moody made walking the length of the Great Hall. He turned his head to find the cause of the sound, and was just able to stop himself from gasping out loud. Certainly, his first thoughts had been right on track, for coming toward them was the goblin equivalent of Mad-Eye himself.

This goblin was probably tall for his kind; still short compared to the humans, but he made every goblin he passed seem even shorter. He still had both legs, unlike Moody, but he was leaning heavily on a thick walking stick. One foot was turned unnaturally inward so that its toes pointed to his opposite ankle – Harry didn't think he wanted to know how that had happened, and he fought the strange urge to flex his own foot. Mini Mad-Eye, as Harry mentally named him, also had three scars running from forehead to jaw on the right side of his face, as if he'd been clawed by some large beast. Remembering the rumors of guard dragons below, Harry thought that just might be the case.

The goblin came to a stop next to Bill, and Harry noticed something else unusual for a goblin – he was thin; sickly thin, as if he'd been starved or deathly ill. Turning away from the goblin's face (it wouldn't do to be considered rude), he found himself looking closer at the walking stick. It had the oddest shape and color, almost as if it was made not of wood but of … _oh._ His disgust must have shown on his face, for the goblin cackled as he used the stick to poke Harry in the shin. "What's the matter, wizard? Don't like dragon bone?"

Albus forestalled any potential trouble by introducing himself and his brother to the new arrival. The goblin stood silently, looking particularly uninterested, leaving Bill to introduce him. "Headmaster, this is Gowron. He normally works underground as a …er, he works underground. Since we're shorthanded this morning he's agreed to be your guide."

"Ha," the goblin bit out, "shorthanded my axe! Damn lazy fraternizers. Always getting themselves drunk on that swill you wizards pass off as whiskey. Couldn't find Monday morning if it was nailed to their arses! That's why _they _aren't trusted to work below." The goblin, Gowron, banged on the floor with his cane to emphasize his point, earning angry glares from some witches passing by.

Ever the statesman, Albus ignored the outburst as he pulled his scroll from his pocket, with much more flourish than Harry felt a simple scroll deserved.

"Master Gowron," Albus began, "my brother and I come to reclaim our familial property, misappropriated these two hundred seventy years by the Lestrange family. As you can see, I have an Order of Foreclosure signed by the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, giving leave for you to allow us entry into the Lestrange Family vault to retrieve our property." Albus tipped his head to the goblin as a sign of respect when he was finished speaking.

The goblin grunted as he swiped the scroll from Albus' hand and unfurled it. He continued to make what Harry felt were rude noises as he read the order, and outright laughed as he got to the signature at the bottom. "What a wonderful coincidence that the Chief Warlock shares your name."

"I have found it a most helpful coincidence from time to time," Albus smiled as he replied.

"Too bad I've never had much tolerance for all that fancy language your Wizengamot likes to use. Explain in plain English, wizard," the goblin demanded.

"It is simply thus; in the year 1717, my ancestor Algernon Dumbledore arranged for his son Albion to marry Oliva Lestrange. To seal the contract, Algernon presented the Lestrange household with an ornate goblet spun of finest gold and decorated with the Dumbledore family seal and several bumblebees made of Amber and Onyx. It was to be displayed in their home until the wedding, at which time it would be used in the ceremony and become the property of the newly wedded couple. For reasons lost in time, the wedding never took place. But neither was the goblet returned to our family."

"And that matters to me how?" the goblin asked in a bored tone.

"It matters because I have been granted an Order of Foreclosure which allows my brother and myself to enter the Lestrange vault to retrieve our property. But fear not," Albus theatrically added, "Aberforth and I both understand that we can only remove items which are rightfully ours from the vault."

"And do you also understand, _wizard_," growled Gowron, who clearly had no greater respect for Albus than he would have for any other wizard – which is to say, none at all, "that your little piece of parchment doesn't mean much to we goblins. The Treaty of Loxley clearly states that you must show how honoring the order is beneficial for Gringotts. You know as well as I do that to allow you entry to the Lestrange vault could bring the wrath of not only the Lestranges but also their Dark Lord. Not exactly what I consider beneficial."

Albus chuckled; he'd expected this argument. In fact, this was why Bill Weasley had singled out this particular goblin to approach. Of all the goblin's Bill knew, this one was deemed the easiest to convince that the terms of the Loxley Treaty had been met. In other words, that letting Albus into the Lestrange vault would somehow benefit the goblins – or at least this particular goblin.

"I assure you that the Loxley Treaty can indeed be met by honoring this Order," Albus calmly said, smiling politely as if speaking to a wayward First Year. "Ronan Lestrange – grandfather to Rabastan – was well-known for his fine collection of goblin-wrought silver and pewter. The man bragged to any and all of the numerous items he'd acquired during his lifetime. He was, I believe, particularly pleased to own the Vengeful Sword of Vargot, although I understand that goblin society had been lead to believe the sword was lost in the Marsco volcano on the Isle of Skye."

He paused but a moment, just long enough to see that Gowron was very interested in his tale. Leaning closer, he continued, "Suppose that a goblin had a legitimate reason to enter the Lestrange vault – perhaps he was escorting a wizard with a ministry order. And suppose that this goblin were to watch while said wizard searched the vault ... suppose while searching said wizard were to open a trunk which contained a stolen goblin artifact … oh I don't know, let's pretend it's a valuable sword, one that was once wielded by a great goblin warrior. Would the requirements of the Treaty of Loxley not have been met in such an instance?"

Standing tall again, Albus went for broke. "Do you not think that the recovery of something like Vargot's sword is worth the risk, miniscule as it is, of incurring the wrath of one rebel wizard?"

Harry had to practically bit his tongue to keep from gasping. He couldn't believe that Albus had just referred to Voldemort – the most evil wizard alive – as a rebel wizard. It was like calling Hitler an upset muggle! Glancing around, he could see that Bill had been similarly affected by Albus' choice of words; the red-head's mouth was hanging open. Only the goblin had had a semi-normal response. Gowron was openly laughing, an uncomfortable sound that echoed throughout the lobby, earning the group some strange looks. Harry rather thought the sound reminded him of Dudley scraping his coins on the blackboard at school.

"One rebel wizard, you say?" The goblin's body continued to shake in silent laughter. "I think you grossly understate his power. But … the Vengeful Sword of Vargot," he said, scratching his chin in thought, "if it were to be found ... it's finder would be held in highest regards."

"And if it were found inside the Lestrange family vault?" Albus baited, already knowing the answer.

Gowron didn't respond, so Bill spoke up, "Finding an object that undisputedly belongs to a goblin in a wizard's vault would allow the Goblin Nation to file charges against the wizard's entire family … receive restitution … maybe even freeze their vault until the head of the family responds to the charges."

Harry thought that over a minute. Rabastan and Bellatrix were the last of the Lestrange family, and they were both wanted criminals. Neither would be showing up for any type of hearing or trial anytime soon, so … if the sword was found, their vault would be frozen indefinitely, and Voldemort would be cut off from one of his greatest sources of funding. This was brilliant – _if_ the sword was there.

Harry continued to consider the upside to Albus' amazing legal scheme, turning out the sounds of Albus and the goblin bickering some more. He came back to himself to find that Albus had convinced the goblin to honor the Order, and Gowron was leaving to call a cart for their journey.

Now that it was just the three of them, Harry noticed Bill eyeing him. He cleared his throat nervously, and seeing an amused look on Albus' face, decided to get into the part. "Very smooth, Albus. Why not just hand all the old families' vaults over while you're at it?"

"Well, I had considered mentioning some of Lucius Malfoy's rumored possessions," Albus replied, and judging from the smile on his face, he would have enjoyed seeing the Malfoy vault frozen. "But I didn't want to lose sight of our true objective."

Bill cleared his throat. "Speaking of objectives … I feel funny asking this, but … you don't plan on trying to steal anything, do you?" He blushed a lovely shade of red as he asked this, then glanced at Aberforth as he continued, "It's just that, you – not you, Albus – but well … your brother here has a bit of a reputation for, er … let's just say he has a reputation."

Harry – as Aberforth – practically tossed his head back as he laughed, a loud gut-shaking laugh. "Oh, I like that! Did you hear, Albus? I've got a _reputation_. I'd say that just about sums me up."

"Quiet, _Aberforth_," Albus admonished, before turning his attention back to Bill. "Rest assured William, I will only take from that vault that which I have the right to reclaim."

Bill wasn't appeased. "What aren't you telling me, Headmaster?"

"Yeah, oh brother of mine … how exactly is that going to work? It isn't really ours." Harry hoped Albus would answer despite how he'd asked – it was a legitimate question.

Giving Bill a sideways glance, Albus directed his answer to Harry. "It may not belong to the Dumbledore family, but as Headmaster of Hogwarts, I most certainly can reclaim one of her few remaining relics on her behalf."

"Ah," Harry replied, smiling as it sank in that the cup was as good as theirs. The smile turned into more of a smirk as he did something he'd seen both Albus and Uncle Abe do – he stroked his beard as he said, "it must be good to be the Headmaster."

Ignoring the crazy bartender, Bill considered what he'd just learned. Namely, that the Headmaster was really after a Hogwart's relic. He couldn't think why one would be this important, but he trusted Albus, so he accepted it. Despite this, he felt he needed to caution to two men. "Well, glad to hear you seem to know exactly what you're after, and that you know you have the authority to get it. But look, you need to be real careful. Strictly speaking, Gowron doesn't have the authority to accept that Order. He's supposed to take it up the chain, but rumor is he has a major grudge against the Lestranges … something to do with Bellatrix and dung duty."

Bill glanced around to see that Gowron was still out of sight, and continued, "Anyway, I think he's accepting your little hint about the sword as an excuse so he can get in himself. If you're right, he gets his revenge by freezing their vault, not to mention the prestige of finding such a relic would go far in restoring his previous ranking. But if something goes wrong, and you get caught or even just questioned, he _will _throw you to the wolves to save his own behind. This isn't a case of 'the enemy of mine enemy is my friend'. More like, the enemy of mine enemy is the prosecution's witness."

"Understood, William," Albus assured the younger man, "and I assure you I will not trust Master Gowron any further than I can throw him. And considering my aching bones and mild arthritis, that isn't very far at all."

"Right, good to know," Bill replied, even as he spotted the goblin making wild hand gestures. "He's signaling for us, let's go."

Albus held Harry back, and softly reminded him, "Do not forget, Harry, that the Dumbledore goblet is not our main goal, and so if you should spot it, I would appreciate if you would not say anything until after we have found Hufflepuff's cup. Also, with all your prior experience I almost hate to remind you, but you only look like my brother. You are not a real Dumbledore. You cannot touch the goblet. Should you attempt to pick it up, who knows what kinds of anti-theft enchantments you might trigger."

"Not a problem. I remember the nasty curses when we went to get the ring." One of the curses, which had been on an innocent candle in the dark shack, had flamed to life and attempted to burn all flesh it contacted. It had only been Albus' quick reflexes that had saved Harry from being charred. "Definitely not touching anything unless you say so."

Harry and Albus took the back seat of the cart, leaving Bill to sit next to the goblin up front. As the cart jerked away from the platform, Harry looked over to his guardian and almost laughed at the man's childlike joy. Albus definitely enjoyed the ride, with its twists, turns, and dives, going far deeper than Harry could ever remember going. Up ahead, Harry could hear a mighty roar, reminding him again of the rumor that Gringotts used dragons as guards. Not so much a rumor, it seemed.

Just as the beast was coming into sight – it still had to be a ways away, since the dragon looked much smaller than Harry knew it was – the goblin cackled as he flicked a switch they were passing. Almost instantly, a rumbling noise started, and right in front of them a crack seemed to appear in the cavern roof. Water dumped from the fissure, right over the tracks, right into the path of the cart.

Harry braced himself, sure that the force of the water would at best push him out of the cart, and at worst derail the entire cart. Albus, however, seemed unconcerned as he poked his wand straight up. With a strange 'boing', a large red and gold umbrella popped out of the end of the wand and spread itself over the two. As they passed under the falls, not a single drop of water touched Harry.

The cart whizzed past the dragon so fast that its fiery breath missed them by several feet. It took one last sharp turn before abruptly stopping. Not prepared, Harry and Albus crashed into the back of the front seat. Bill, who apparently had expected this and had braced himself, jumped out of the cart and came back to make certain they were unharmed. Gowron had no such concerns. He'd left the cart the moment it had stopped and had already made his way to the vault.

Albus extracted himself from the cart, carefully rubbing his lower back as he did so, and hurried over to Gowron's side. Bill had reached over to help Albus' brother, but wasn't watching what he was doing, and ended up shoving Harry out the other side of the cart.

Finding himself on the ground and out of sight, Harry took the opportunity to take a swig from his flask. No telling how long this was going to take, and they'd already wasted over half an hour. The Lestranges were obviously a very rich family; knowing how full his own vault was, Harry could hardly imagine the treasure hidden inside this one. It was practically its own cave.

Climbing back to his feet, Harry was surprised to hear his bones crack and pop. He caught Bill's smirk at his reaction, and grumbled something about youth and disrespect as he climbed back through the cart and pushed his way past the not-really-younger man.

He reached the vault to find the door wide open, but neither Albus nor Gowron had moved to enter. Impatiently, Harry leaned forward to get a look at the Lestrange fortune. What he saw made his jaw drop open, his heart skip a beat, and his stomach feel as if it had dropped to his feet.

The vault was empty.

Well, not completely empty. Right in the middle of the cavernous room was a small pile of glittering gold. Galleons; maybe a couple fists full. Definitely less than what he'd given the twins. Albus had finally gotten over his shock and he stepped forward, spreading the pile across the floor with the toe of his boot. There were, Harry reckoned, less than 100. And as he'd expected, there was nothing hidden underneath the pile. Albus looked over to him, and his face clearly conveyed what Harry himself was thinking. _'Well, crap!'_

**** end chapter ****

**Notes: **For some reason, I've always pictured the goblins as just really short Klingons, which I guess explains Gowron. My apologies to those that wanted to see a break-in ala Deathly Hallows. Really, that's _so_ not Albus' style. The Treaty of Loxley … we've been watching Men in Tights (manly men!) a lot lately. No fear of Minerva splinching - either that woman can really hold her liquor or 'freshening up' entails more than a trip to the loo. Either way, Ginny was perfectly safe. After all, friends don't let friends Apparate buzzed.

**A quick note about reviews:** First off, love 'em. So please keep 'em coming. Second, if you ask a question that you want answered, you have to sign your review. Sorry, but I don't respond to reviews in my posts – I find that annoying when I'm reading a story, so I won't do it. If it's a spoiler question, you have to specifically say you don't mind the spoiler, or I probably won't answer it.


	18. Seventeen

**Disclaimer: n. The thing that comes at the beginning of every chapter, which tells the reader that the writer is not the owner.**

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**Chapter 18. Seventeen**

'_Empty!'_ Harry kept his composure until they had arrived safely back in their own home. They'd barely entered the house when he turned on Albus. "Well, we're jacked," he shouted, perhaps a bit more forcefully than intended.

"What do you mean?" Albus calmly asked.

"_What do I mean_," the boy repeated, none too politely. "I mean, first the snake gets turned into something else – something we haven't completely identified let alone know how to find – and now the cup is gone."

"It will be found, Harry," Albus reassured him, "as will Nagini's replacement."

"You're entirely too calm about this. You do realize that without them, we can't kill the wa-er, Voldemort?"

"Since it was I who explained the situation to you, I would assume the answer is obvious." Albus looked like he was going to say more, but instead he paused, a strange look on his face.

But then, Harry realized, the man was still looking at his brother, not Harry; he was still under the effects of the Polyjuice Potion. He turned away from Albus' scrutiny, choosing to pace by the fireplace to burn off his anxious energy.

"Why don't you go take a shower, Harry," Albus finally recommended, although to Harry's ears it was more a command, and Harry turned to glare at his guardian. "Frankly … you smell like goats. And I am uncertain when my brother last laundered that robe."

Perhaps he was only imagining it, but Harry was suddenly certain he could feel tiny _things_ crawling over his skin. With a curt nod of his head he moved toward the stairs. As he passed by Albus, the old man patted his arm and added, "we will figure it out, son. You've been in this for a year, but I've been working to solve this mystery literally since you were in nappies. Take your shower; and when you come back down why don't you bring that bottle of Confederate Firewhisky you've got hidden in your room. I dare say we've earned it."

-000-

July twenty-eighth. That meant it had been two weeks. Fourteen days – fourteen _nights_ – since Dr. Tony had changed his prescription for sleeping pills. And every night (even the night he had gotten drunk with Albus) had been full of the happiest dreams a teenage boy could have. Harry was rather sick of them. So his first order of business was to ask … demand … beg to get the prescription changed. Dr. Tony refused until Harry swallowed his pride and confessed the real, and very sticky, problem with the drug.

"Well … that's certainly a side effect I hadn't expected," Tony replied, trying hard not to laugh, for it would be very unprofessional to do so.

"_Please_ … I'm desperate here," Harry explained, his eyes darting around the room to look at anything other then the Doctor. "I mean, once in a while is alright, but _every night_? I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hardly want to go to sleep any more. I feel like such a pervert."

"Alright," Dr. Tony said, taking pity on the teenager. "We'll find you something else before you leave today. Now, Albus tells me you went to your parent's graves. Why don't you tell me about that? …"

When the hour was up, Dr. Tony surprised Harry by telling him he felt they could go back to once a month sessions. An agreeable Harry joined Albus in the empty waiting room, happily sharing his news whilst giving the Doctor a few minutes to consult with a colleague - he'd wanted a second opinion on what prescription to try.

Calling them back into his office, he went over their rather limited options and the known side effects of each. Harry's illness (his 'delicate stomach', as Albus phrased it) had to be considered - but so did his sanity, Harry countered. Eventually they agreed to go back to the original prescription – the Eupherein SA – just in a smaller dose, and with one caveat. Doctor Tony had insisted that Harry have his stomach checked once a month for signs that the Ventris Inner-Erosion was coming back; Harry was to stop taking the pills immediately at the first signs of a relapse.

On their way home, Harry admitted he wasn't looking forward to monthly checks with the eccentric Doctor Bombay. Albus, always the helpful one, assured him Madam Pomfrey could do the scans in conjunction with his once-a-month potion.

That night Harry had pleasant dreams about goblins searching Hogwarts for golden bumblebees. He woke to crisp, clean sheets and with a smile on his face.

After a quick breakfast Harry followed Albus to their back patio, where he was treated to one of his rare training session with Albus. This time, they focused on how to subtly manipulate people's actions using Confundus and Compulsion charms and the Repelling jinx. Albus found it likely that at some point during their hunt, Harry might find himself in need of such abilities. Of course, first he spent half an hour stressing the morality of using such spells, all of which affected the victim's ability to do or think for themselves to at least some degree.

Getting people to think their actions were their own was an art form, Albus had explained, albeit one that could easily be corrupted for immoral purposes. The Compulsion Charm in particular was tricky, as it could be twisted into a watered-down version of the Imperious Curse. It was only the fact that it's placed on an object, not a person, that kept it this side of legal. Certain uses of the charm, while perhaps underhanded, were perfectly acceptable. For example, the Chudley Cannon's used a Compulsion Charm to cause the spectators at their games to walk past the souvenir booth as they headed to the exits, which was perfectly legal. But if the charm instead compelled them to buy something it would be immoral and unacceptable, and likely land someone in Azkaban.

The Repelling jinx was also placed on objects, but had the opposite effect. Harry remembered first reading about it in Quidditch Through the Ages, as it was once used to keep the Snidget from entering the spectator area. The Confundus Charm Harry already understood. He'd studied up on it after being accused of being its victim back in Third Year. Albus' main concern here was again the temptation to use the charm for personal gain. Confunding the opposing Seeker, he stressed, was grounds for a lifetime ban from Quidditch – one that would be enforced.

Using any of these charms was walking a thin line, and Albus made it very clear Harry was not to blur the line in any way. Nodding his understanding along to Albus' narrative, Harry suspected he'd be writing another research paper before the day was done.

Once the lecture was over they got started on the practical lessons. First, Harry practiced casting the spells using Dobby, who had eagerly volunteered, as a test subject. At one point, Dobby was Confunded to think he hadn't eaten in days, and he shoved his face into the bowl of crisps, gobbling until there was nothing left but crumbs. Another time, the Repelling spell left Dobby unable to clean up dirty dishes, as every time he tried to touch them, he remembered he had a cake in the oven. A simple Compulsion charm had Dobby washing the same table top seven times.

When Harry was proficient at casting each spell, Albus set about trying to teach Harry to recognize when he was under their effects. He wasn't always successful at recognizing the Confunding Charm, but more often than not his did. It seemed the more contrary the spell was to his personal nature, the easier it was to recognize. Oddly enough, when it was an object that was spelled instead of himself, it took longer to recognize. Once he did identify any of the spells he broke their influence easily, much like he could with the Imperious.

When they'd finished their lesson, Harry was by no means an expert on the spells, but he was easily on par with your average Auror trainee. As expected, he spent the evening reading through several thick tomes so he could write his paper.

Discussing the lengthy report at dinner the next night, Harry assured Albus that he wouldn't misuse the magic. Albus seemed pleased, and he dropped the subject to discuss Professor Snape's latest report. It turned out Harry had missed an earlier floo-call from Snape ("Really? That's a darn shame.") who had passed along some interesting gossip.

Snape had pointed out that Rodolphus and his brother Rabastan had been the last remaining Lestranges, something Harry hadn't realized. "Seems those old families are dropping like flies," he'd quipped.

"Focus, Harry," Albus reprimanded before continuing to explain. "Apparently, Rodolphus' death triggered a nasty fight over the family's vast fortune. Bellatrix, as his widow, has claimed the fortune should pass to her, since her husband had been the oldest and the named Lestrange heir, and she in turn was his sole heir. Her claim is bolstered by the fact that Rabastan had not been named as an heir in his own father's will."

"Ouch." From what little Harry understood about the old pureblood families, that was practically a slap on the face.

"Quite. Rabastan, however, countered that his father had merely forgotten to update the will after his birth, and indeed the patriarch's will had been written a scant three days after his firstborn son's birth. Rabastan contends that as the only Lestrange _by blood_, the fortune is rightfully his."

Eyes twinkling, Albus continued, "Unfortunately for the two of them, as wanted criminals, they have no legal means to settle the dispute. One of them must have decided to take matters into their own hands and removed the fortune from the vault, and therefore out of the other's reach. It's unclear why the small pile of galleons had been left behind. Knowing the vindictive nature of the Lestranges, the galleons were likely the proverbial salt being rubbed into the open wound."

Harry shook his head as he replayed the information in his mind. It was practically impossible to guess which of the two had cleaned out the vault. For starters, Rabastan was basically an unknown – other than the obvious insanity that went with being a Death Eater. But was he a doer or just a follower? On the other hand, stealing from herself sounded like Bella's kind of crazy. But would she have gone against her Lord and put his treasure at risk? _'Yeah, she's barking mad!'_

Either way, Albus felt such a vast fortune couldn't be successfully hidden in very many places. He's already begun plans to recheck every property he knew of that was attached to either Lestrange.

Harry, concerned for his guardian's safety, suggested, "Maybe you should include Bill Weasley in the searches. Surely they would have set traps to safeguard their booty, and that is his specialty."

Albus was of course hesitant to bring anyone else into the mix, but he admitted he could see the advantage of using Bill's tomb-raiding experiences. And too, he'd certainly proven his helpfulness at Gringotts. The topic was closed when Albus agreed to consider the advice.

The rest of the evening passed quickly, and Harry headed up to his room around ten. All month long, he'd been looking forward to the next day. His birthday; the day he became an adult, at least in the eyes of the Ministry. Personally, he felt he'd earned that distinction years ago. He knew Albus and Abe were working together on a party for him, something that both surprised and slightly scared him. Abe's idea of a good time probably wouldn't be appreciated by the likes of Molly Weasley, and he'd be a fool to discount his guardian's strange sense of fun.

He forwent his old habit of staying awake until midnight. Now that he had a family that wanted to celebrate his birthday, he didn't think it was necessary. And besides, he had just started enjoying sleep again. When he woke early the next morning, he took his time dressing before making his way to the dining room. And what a surprise he found when he got there!

Instead of food, the table was full of envelopes and gifts, and more were appearing as he stood there. Albus, who had managed to sneak up silently behind him, explained that Dobby was using a bit of his own brand of magic to relieve the strange owls of their packages and direct everything to the table. The little elf had started at midnight, when the first owl had arrived, and he'd been out there ever since.

Knowing he wasn't going to like the answer, he nonetheless asked Albus who all the gifts were from.

"The Boy Who Lived is seventeen, Harry, and the world wants to celebrate," Albus kindly explained, although his tone of voice suggested that Harry should already understand this. "I would however suggest caution," he hesitated to add, " as not everyone is glad you have survived thus far."

"Yeah, I'll avoid the ones decorated with tiny Dark Marks," Harry responded. "Do you think many of them are cursed?"

"What I think, my boy, is that we should ignore the whole lot of them and have ourselves some breakfast. I happen to know a place not far from here with a kitchen full of little helpers just itching to make a meal for someone."

Harry brightened instantly, knowing Albus was talking about Hogwarts. That wasn't at all how he'd expected to spend the day, but now that he thought of it, it sounded perfect. In no time, the two were headed down the old path, passing Dobby on the way. The elf – who was busy hopping into the air to catch owls as they tried to get by – wished him a Merry Birthday as he snagged a particularly large screech owl by its tail feathers. Just as they walked out of range, Harry was certain he heard Dobby threaten to cook the bird if it didn't release its package.

Once inside the castle Albus led the way to the kitchen, and despite it being the middle of summer three house-elves immediately bustled over to take care of them. In no time at all, a scrumptious buffet of eggs, meats and breads filled the table, and Harry knew they wouldn't even eat half of the food.

As they ate, Harry thought back to his birthday last year, particularly the cake they'd eaten for breakfast. But the memory brought something else to mind. This was his second birthday with Albus, but the old man hadn't had one himself. Well, technically he had, he just hadn't let Harry know. There had been no celebration. Setting his fork aside, he had to ask, "Er, Seba? You know, this is my second birthday with you. Shouldn't we have celebrated your birthday somewhere in between?"

"Oh child … when you get to be my age you realize that the date of your birth is not all that special after all. It's your date of death that you're most concerned with."

Harry knew that Albus was making light, but no matter how much he hounded the man, he couldn't get an answer. Even after they'd left the kitchen and begun to slowly make their way to Hogsmeade, Albus refused to say. Harry hadn't really paid much attention to their destination, having taken it for just a leisurely stroll, but as they approached the Hog's Head he noticed a crude, hand-painted sign on the door.

CLOSED - GO AWAY

Seeing the question on Harry's face, Albus paused to explain. "Inside are waiting your closest friends and the rest of your family, hoping to catch you unawares. But given your newly honed reflexes, I thought it best to prepare you, lest you hex someone in a moment of panic. Once we are inside, I trust you can act sufficiently surprised?"

Harry shook his head. A _surprise_ party? Had to have been Ron's idea.

With a wink, Albus pushed the door open then moved aside so Harry could enter first. As his head appeared in the unusually light barroom, shouts of "SURPRISE!" filled the air.

"Oh my goodness," he gushed, clutching his hand to his heart. "You really surprised me! What wonderful and crafty friends you are," Harry prattled on, sounding somewhat like Dobby.

"Oh you," replied Hermione, even as she pulled him into a big hug. "How did you figure it out?" She eyed the Headmaster suspiciously.

"Come on now, don't you think I'd have been taught to check out an unknown place before entering?" In truth, nobody had really covered that in his training, but he made a mental note to correct that mistake as soon as possible.

Hermione was unable to reply, because by then the rest of the crowd had come over with their birthday wishes. Harry let himself be pulled to a table that had been set up in the middle of the room, and once seated he got his first look around the room. The main room had been cleared of clutter and swept, then washed down in an attempt to make it presentable. Even the windows were slightly less grimy than usual.

Taking the seats surrounding him were his best friends – Ginny, Ron and Hermione. Fred was here; one of the twins would have stayed behind to run their shop, and George probably wasn't in a party mood. Molly, Bill and Fleur were the only other Weasley's present; though Bill could only stay through his lunch hour. Arthur was working and Charlie had already returned to Romania.

Seeing Harry look around the guests, Hermione explained that they had decided to have the party during the work day to throw off any would-be attackers. It meant less attendees, but she had correctly guessed that Harry would accept the trade off. Albus, Uncle Abe, Remus and Tonks rounded out the crowd.

When everyone was seated, Molly brought out the food – a veritable feast of Sheppard's pie and sliced beef and glazed ham with potatoes and vegetables and gravies. Dishes were passed and everyone helped themselves. Ron had his first plateful gone before the last bowl had finished its round. Harry, having had a rather large breakfast, finished ahead of the others, and he used the opportunity to quiz Bill about his work. Bill's interest was peaked when Harry told him he was considering a similar line of work after school.

"But," Harry explained, "after seeing how gleefully goblins will turn on us wizards, I don't think I want to work for them. Ginny and I are talking about doing free-lance work, aren't we Gin?"

Bill almost missed the clue, but he'd been top student in addition to Head Boy his final year. His suspicion had first been raised when he'd arrived today and the surly bartender hadn't seemed to remember him despite their recent adventure together at Gringotts. And now, here was Harry, talking about vengeful goblins. Bill would definitely be keeping a closer eye on those two – Harry and Albus. They were up to something, and it wasn't just over some lost Hogwarts relic. He'd bet money on that.

Once everyone claimed to be full Molly brought out the cake – a three-layer chocolate monstrosity decorated with candy snitches and frosted lightening bolts. Harry wanted to groan when he saw it, but seeing the joy in Molly's eyes, he gave her his best grin and told her how much he loved it.

Everyone mingled while they ate their cake, giving Harry the chance to Ginny aside for a birthday kiss. She took the opportunity to give back his vault key while she shared with him how she'd evaded Ron long enough to get to the bank. She even admitted that she'd been shocked when she first saw the vault. It was rather a lot of gold. Remembering his admonishment that it would soon be theirs, she did take a bit extra for shopping. Harry knew she felt funny about that, but he assured her that he wanted her to consider it hers now. As they hugged, he noticed Hermione watching them, and he panicked that she might have seen Ginny give the key back. But Ginny's leg rubbing against his leg soon made him forget all about Hermione.

Finally pulling away – it wouldn't do to get over-excited here – he teased her about the surprise party. Ginny was quite adamant that she had been against it from the start. "Really, I've seen your hexes," she'd explained.

After everyone had eaten their cake, Molly cleared the table and a pile of presents appeared. Everyone retook their seats in anticipation, causing Molly to hesitate. Traditionally, the family gave their gift first, but she wasn't sure if Albus was ready to expose his relationship with Harry. Albus, however, wasn't the one to step forward.

Aberforth, Hogs Head bartender and the Order's resident hermit, left his safe haven behind the bar to bring Harry a dirty, half-squished brown box about the size of his hand. Harry accepted the box graciously, remembering the beautiful ring Abe had kept inside an old sock. Lifting the lid, he found an old-looking pocket watch. It was made out of a gray metal, maybe pewter or nickel, and appeared muggle-made. Etched into the cover was a sailing vessel, an old-style frigate Harry thought, with its many sails billowing in the wind. Opening the cover he saw a rather plain and slightly scratched watch-face. Engraved on the inside of the cover was the phrase "may the wind be your freedom".

It was beautiful, and Harry said as much as he jumped from his seat to hug the old man. Abe accepted the hug for about three seconds, then seemed to remember the crowd and pushed Harry back. "Ain't no such thing. Just an old family watch … belonged to my maternal grandfather. He was a sailor, or some such thing. Dead now, in any event. I never could figure out how to read those hands, so I figured it was about time someone might as well use the stupid thing."

Harry nodded along, knowing Abe was trying his best to pretend not to care. But Harry could see that the act wasn't fooling everyone. In fact, a couple people were looking at him in a new light, no doubt making the same mistake Ginny had first made. They thought he was the person Harry lived with.

Perhaps that was why Harry's next gift didn't raise any eyebrows, even though it was from the Headmaster. It was a framed picture of Harry at the dance his Fourth Year (thankfully, it had been snapped the one time he'd danced with Hermione). Even Harry thought it a strange gift. But at Albus' urging, he taped the frame with his wand, and the picture faded away, leaving a parchment in its place. Looking over Harry's shoulder, Ginny gasped. "Is that …" she started to ask, and Albus readily replied.

"It is the Dumbledore family crest. The Dumbledore name will some day die out, what with my brother and myself both doddering old bachelors. But the family, Harry, will live on in you and yours. It is my hope that you will honor it."

Harry was beside himself. He understood just enough about wizarding traditions to know that Albus had just formally declared Harry his heir. Oh, it wasn't about inheriting money or property. It meant something much deeper, and the now seventeen year old man desperately hoped he could hold back the tears he could feel forming. A loud sniff caught his attention, and he turned to find Molly Weasley openly crying. Glancing around, he saw that Hermione had been similarly affected. Joyful tears, he knew; and that thought helped him get his own emotions under control.

A shout of "Yo, mate" broke the moment, and Ron called out, "something you want to tell the rest of us?"

"Oh, er …Ron … everyone … have you met my guardian, Albus Dumbledore?"

The explosion he was expecting never came – Ron was shocked silent, although he did have a peculiar look on his face, as if he was torn between fright and laughter. Fred made his decision simpler for him by hooting in laughter. Cracking into a smile, Ron soon joined in the laughter, spiting out words like "prat" and "teachers pet". Harry even thought he'd heard his friend mutter, "just as barmy", but surely that couldn't be right.

"Glad you're all taking the news so well," Harry said. "But I hope you all realize … nobody's supposed to know about this."

"You can trust us, Harry," Fred assured him, "we're family."

Things settled back down after a spell, and Harry opened the rest of his gifts. They were all nice enough, and for the most part they seemed to follow the theme of Best Prepare for What Lies Ahead – _'and isn't that what every guy wants for his birthday?' _– but he couldn't help but feel that the first two had been the best.

Eventually, the adults broke away, leaving the youngsters to their own devises. Harry was certain that Remus was grilling Albus about the guardianship. With permission and stern warnings to behave and be safe, the youngsters headed into the village for some fun and fresh air. They joked as they walked, until eventually Harry recognized that they'd followed a path to the edge of the forest. By unspoken agreement, the group stopped just outside the tree line.

He had expected Ron to start the inquisition, but it was Fred who spoke, "so, living with the headmaster … how strange has that been?"

Looking around at his friends, he thought for a moment before responding. "Not so bad once I'd been there a while." He chuckled as he added, "strangest part was getting used to McGonagall … when she visits she wears her hair _down_."

Ron looked to be trying to imagine that, but Fred nodded, giving Harry the sneaky suspicion that Fred (and probably George) had somehow managed to see that sight for himself. With an evil grin, the solitary twin asked, "Is he all educational all the time? Like, if you don't eat all your vegetables, do you get detention?"

"Yeah mate," Ron joined in, "are there home points? … Get it? Home … instead of house?" On a roll now, Ron continued, even as he laughed at his own joke, "and when you're really bad, does he schedule a conference with hims—oh … OH MERLIN … when you had that … er, parent _thing_ … he was there."

Hermione rolled her eyes, unimpressed by either Ron's deductive reasoning or his horrid grammar, or probably both. "Well of course he was there," she chided. "He _is_ Harry's guardian."

"_Well of course_," Ron mimicked, "but he wasn't there as the headmaster. He would have been there for Harry, like Mum and Dad were there for Ginny … wait a minute … how's that work? Did he speak in two different voices, one for when he was being Headmaster, and a different one for when he was being your guardian?"

Harry failed to see the humor in the comments, even if the rest of the group was snickering and giggling – even Ginny. A bit harsher than intended, he said, "He was there as my guardian. And he took it seriously. Professor McGonagall oversaw the meeting. Is that all you wanted to know?" he coldly added.

But Ron had started to laugh uncontrollable, totally missing his friend's tone of voice. "So, he knows … er … what the two of you were doing?"

Ginny chose that moment to jump in. "Arg … we weren't 'doing' anything, Ronald. We'd already finished. I mean … bloody hell … _again_ … you know what I mean, you ponce!"

Harry feared that one of the brothers would take exception to Ginny's misspoken denial, but they apparently were too caught up in Harry's humiliation to respond to it.

"Sorry," Ron muttered, not sounding the least bit such. Turning back to Harry, he continued, "But, ah, _have_ you ever … you know … talked about … _it_? With him? I mean … _could_ you talk about it with him? He's gotta be like a hundred and fifty. Maybe he's …," he trailed off, making strange shoving gestures with his hands in a rather poor attempt to convey his meaning.

"Maybe he's _what_, Ron?" And this time, the coldness in Harry's voice wasn't hard to notice.

Nonetheless, Ron trudged on, "maybe he's not interested in it anymore. Probably been a few years – maybe he can't any more, or … or maybe he doesn't remember how?"

It was hard to say who was more shocked at Ron's words. Fred summed up everyone's thoughts when he spoke. "I find it a bit disturbing that you've put this much thought into your Headmaster's private life, Ronnie. I can honestly say I have never considered Dumbledore's sex life before. Well, except for his affair with McGonagall." He turned his focus from Ron to Harry as the continued, "hey, you must know. Is Gryffindor legend true? Are they bonk buddies? Come on Harry … don't hold out on us, mate. There's galleons riding on this. It's true, isn't it?"

Hermione could no longer contain herself. (And honestly, Harry was surprised she'd let it get this far.) "Fred, how can you even ask such a thing?" she shrieked. "Harry, _do not_ say anything – not one word. Whatever their relationship is, it's personal."

By now, Harry's was losing his own patience with his friends. "It's alright Hermione, I'll talk about Albus and McGonagall just as soon as Fred here tells us about his parent's sex lives. I mean – seven kids … that's what I'd call bonk buddies." He silently sent his apologies to Molly and Arthur, but he needed to put two of their sons in their place.

"And Ron," he continued, "you really want to know? Well fine, but don't complain about it later. Last summer, he took me to this healer … who I think actually took some perverted delight in explaining sex to me. Which Seba … er, the Headmaster, was quite relieved to have been saved from having that talk himself. He did give me this really great book, though. Loads better than that _How to Charm Witches_ book you had hidden in your trunk last year."

He smirked at Ron's sudden blush and Hermione's calculating look. "And yeah," he carried on, "he stood with me at that meeting with your parents, and heard all the sordid details. And afterwards, he pulled me aside and suggested that next time things get too heated, I should excuse myself for a quick wank."

"OH …MERLIN!" Fred exclaimed. "The Headmaster … told you … to-to wank?"

"Well, actually, he told me to, quote, _alleviate the pressure_." Harry smiled as he added, "Can't really picture him saying anything as crude as wank." The mental image of that word coming from Albus Dumbledore's mouth made him chuckle.

"Alleviate the pressure?" Ron repeated in a strangely high-pitched voice, as if he couldn't believe what he had heard. "You and the Headmaster … _our Headmaster_, of our school … talked about … about … tossing off?"

Harry fought to keep his voice calm and his face it's normal color as he replied, "Yes, I talked about masturbating with your Headmaster." Seeing the incredulous look on Ron and Fred's faces, he lost all patience and screeched, "Oh, for the love of … it's not like I wanked right there in front of him!"

"Wa … wa … _in front of him_?" Ron uttered, his mouth hanging open.

By this point, both of the girls were openly laughing. "Oh Harry," Ginny said, looking at her brother, who was frozen in shock. "I think you broke him."

-000-

Back at the cottage, Dobby presented Albus with a detailed list of the gifts that had arrived for Harry. Albus passed his wand over the list, making several names flash before disappearing. The corresponding packages flew from the dining table into the small box sitting on one of the chairs. Then he waved his wand over the box, much like he had last summer when they had sorted Harry's inheritance from Sirius. None of the packages glowed, and Albus seemed satisfied. With a sweep of his hand, he indicated that Harry could start opening those gifts.

Harry pulled over another chair and dug in. For the most part, the packages contained nothing more than cards and trinkets from his classmates. Harry had never exchanged gifts or cards or really anything with most of them before, and he asked if he needed to reciprocate. Albus assured him he could get away with simple thank-you cards for those he wasn't particularly close to, with no obligation to acknowledge their birthdays in return. It was, he had called it, celebrity etiquette.

Of special note to Harry was the lumpy gift from Hagrid, who was off on Order business and had missed the party. The big guy held a special place in Harry's heart, and his gifts always seemed to be more personal. This year's gift included the usual home-made and highly dangerous supposedly-edible treats, and a special Mokeskin pouch. It could be kept in a pocket, or worn like a necklace from its thick leather cord. The note that came with it said that only the owner could open the draw strings. It was also charmed to hold objects of any weight, as long as they fit through the very expandable opening, although he recommended against trying to put a hippogriff calf inside it. Pushing the image that created aside, Harry began thinking about what he could carry in it – it would be immensely helpful when he and Ginny eloped.

Another gift that grabbed his attention was a shoe-boxed sized package from Neville Longbottom. The two boys had swapped birthday wishes before, but never gifts. Harry tore the wrapping off and flipped open the box to reveal books. Paperback books. Five of them. Almost afraid to see, he slowly slid one of the books up so he could see the front cover. It showed a buxom red-head, wearing a low-cut dress of deepest purple. She was standing with her back to a tall, dark-haired Adonis of a man, whose hand was possessively wrapped around her waist. The two were gazing at each other with a look that could only be described as smoldering. If Harry were the type to use such a word, which of course he was not. Hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt, he dropped the book back into place and shoved the box to the side.

The strangest gift, however, had to be the medium-sized box wrapped entirely in black. A simple note was attached: So you do not have to 'borrow' from me next time. Prof. Snape

Casting a weary glance at Albus – who merely shrugged in reply – he carefully lifted the box and removed its wrapping. Pealing off the lid, he found several small jars inside. Lifting one out, he held it up to the light to examine it. Inside were several familiar looking greenish-brown stems – _knotgrass_, the label said. Another jar held bright green leaves – _Fluxweed, picked at full moon and perfectly preserved, _its label boasted. It was the jar of shredded boomslang skin that confirmed his suspicion. Snape had given him all the ingredients needed to brew Polyjuice!

Another glance over revealed that Albus had come to the same conclusion. Harry hastily shoved the box aside and snatched up the last gift – a thin box roughly the size and shape of a deck of playing cards. There was no card, just a note written on the plain white parchment the gift was wrapped in. 'To Harry, your friend Eddie'

His confusion must have shown on his face, and Albus was quick to remind Harry that Edgar, or Eddie as he was known to friends, was the Unspeakable that had joined the Order at the end of the school year.

"Oh … yeah," Harry replied, wondering how he could have possibly forgotten the man that had explained that whole veil thing at the Department of Mysteries. For just a second, Harry's thoughts drifted to Sirius, but with a deep breath he pushed those aside. This was supposed to be a happy time; he was sure he'd have time to dwell on Sirius, not to mention his missing parents, when he got ready for bed.

Looking down, he realized that he'd been twisting the box nervously. Hoping Albus hadn't noticed his fidgeting, he quickly opened the gift. Inside was the last thing he'd expected. It was a miniature skeleton, no more than four inches long. It rather reminded him of the plastic skeletons Dudley would bring home from school Halloween parties. Only instead of being made of plastic, this one was made of some kind of smooth white stone, reminiscent of the keys on a piano. Flipping it in his hand, he noticed that while the arms dangled loosely, the legs seemed to be both fused together, and slightly thinner than the rest of the body.

Not knowing what possible use he'd have for a fancy Halloween trinket, he started to set the skeleton aside, muttering something about it being very nice.

Albus chuckled. "It's a skeleton key, Harry. It will open any lock … and I do mean _any_ lock. Much more reliable than that lovely penknife your godfather gave you, although not nearly as valuable to you, I should imagine. This is a very rare item, Harry. Skeleton keys are controlled by the Ministry more stringently than Time Turners. Edgar must have been very taken with you indeed. I would suggest you keep it in a secure location, hidden so it cannot be found and stolen."

Following Albus suggestion, Harry slipped the key into his Mokeskin pouch, which he tossed on top of the box of books.

Now that the gifts from friends were done, Harry turned his attention back to the table full that remained. At the far end of the table were the well wishes, which Dobby had thoughtfully alphabetized by city of origin. The helpful elf had unwrapped everything else, and sorted the gifts by type – foods, clothes, books – if it fell into a category, Dobby had a pile for it. The gifts ranged from home-knit gloves in Gryffindor colors to an expensive looking set of leather bound books, embossed in gold lettering The Complete Works of Kennilworthy Whisp.

Harry was mortified. He couldn't believe the amount of strangers that had sent him gifts. "Really, don't people have anything better to spend their money on than gifts for a guy who probably has more money than they do?"

Albus cleared his throat.

"Er, sorry. Didn't mean to say that out loud. But you know what I mean, right? It's not that I don't appreciate it … it's just that I don't need all this stuff. I mean," he reached out and picked up a flimsy disk, "a Fanged Frisbee? I'm seventeen, not seven."

Albus had himself been rummaging through the piles, stopping to admire the Remembrall Harry had received. "Might I make a suggestion? Perhaps you could donate the unneeded items to a charity. The Hogsmeade Proprietor's Association, for example, donates Christmas gifts to all Hogwarts' students on tuition assistance."

"That's brill." Harry reached across the table, digging into the mound of candy to withdraw a small bag of hard yellow candies. "Could you help me arrange it? They can have all of it – except this." He tossed the bag of lemon treats to Albus. "Oh, and those Gryffindor gloves. I could use a new pair for winter, and someone did go to the trouble to make them. And Dobby, you can have any socks in the pile, as a thank you for all your help today."

For a moment, Harry feared that Dobby's squeal of glee would shatter all the glass in the house.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** I don't think the pouch Harry got in my story is exactly like the one in Deathly Hallows. Guess what? I don't care. And now Harry won't need to borrow Hermione's purse, which so would not match his shoes.

Poor Ron. I could say more, but I think I've scarred him enough.

Compulsion charm – seems to appear a lot in fandom; I define it as a spell placed on an object, not a person. It makes you interact with the object. For example, you can't stop yourself from picking up a specific tea cup.

Repelling spell – to my way of thinking, this is the exact opposite of the Compulsion charm – now you wouldn't pick up that tea cup up for a million galleons. It can also be cast on an area, such as a campsite. Like in canon, it can be 'target' specific, such as only affecting Muggles.


	19. The Knight Riders

Disclaimer: I don't own the Knight Industries Two Thousand. Actually, I don't own any talking car. And really, that's a good thing. 'Cause if my van could talk, it would probably blab about my horrible off-key singing. And about my tendency to randomly shout out things like 'I know how they sneak away to elope'. And that habit I have of letting my dog drive, which apparently is against the law … or so I've been told. So yeah, no talking car for me. Oh, and I don't own Harry Potter.

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**Chapter 19. The Knight Riders **

A few days after his birthday Harry was again reunited with his friends, albeit this time at Grimmauld Place. He was spending a week with the Weasley family and Hermione, who was also visiting. Unlike the last time the friends had all summered in that house there was no massive housecleaning, although Molly (who had already owled Harry for permission) did want the youngsters to help with some painting.

After dumping his things in his bedroom, he met up with his friends at the kitchen table, where they talked over a plate of Molly's latest culinary delight. It was a recipe Kingsley had brought back from across the pond – Molly called them _cook-ees_. Hermione was going on about some book she'd just finished (When Obliviators Fail: The Strange Case of Jack's Magic Beans), and Harry leaned close and whispered a crude joke about things growing to Ron, who barely even chuckled. That's when Harry realized that Ron was having trouble looking him in the eye. Come to think of it, he'd also turned a brilliant shade of red the first time Albus had been mentioned; something that Ginny and Hermione had both noticed, and they teased the boy to no end for it.

Or at least, Ginny teased him. Hermione was much more subtle, at least in Harry's opinion. Where Ginny openly spoke with double entendres, earning the occasional disapproving looks from Molly, Hermione just seemed to find every and any excuse to use the phrase 'in front of the Headmaster'. Those comments always left Ron sputtering, and Harry was certain that it had to be on purpose. What other reason could Hermione have had in asking if Harry had packed his bag _in front of the Headmaster_?

As Ron finally reached his limit and turned on Hermione for her nasty questions, Harry knew the two would be occupied for several minutes, so he turned to his girlfriend and winked. She smiled back with a barely perceptible nod of her head.

Albus was returning in seven days to retrieve Harry, who by then would be a happily married man. He and Ginny had planned furiously over their mirrors almost from the moment they learned of this visit. They'd even employed Kreacher, who delighted in carrying secret messages and packages between the two. Master Regulus, the Elf confessed, often used him for the same purpose.

With everything in place, they just needed to bide their time. And most definitely not give their game away. It wouldn't due for Hermione – or Merlin forbid one of the twins – to get suspicious. Hermione would lecture until Ginny was too old to need to elope, and Harry positively shuddered as he thought about the twins' reactions.

Oddly enough, he wasn't as concerned about Molly finding out. Mostly because he knew their plan was foolproof, but also because she trusted him enough that she wouldn't be keeping too close an eye on the two this week. A misguided trust, as it turned out, but Harry was willing to push aside his guilt in this instance.

Neither considered Ron a threat; true, he normally kept a close eye on them, but Hermione's teasing – not to mention Ginny's perfectly innocent suggestion that maybe Ron needed a demonstration – had him so off balance Harry knew his friend wouldn't be seeking him out any time soon.

No, it was Hermione that was going to figure them out. He was certain of it. One particular afternoon, when Hermione seemed to be watching him in what could only be described as a thoughtful manner, Harry decided it was time to distract her. Bringing down Slytherin's journal of magic, he placed it on the table in front of her and hissed the password. "Don't touch it," he cautioned, explaining that it would slam shut if she did so.

At her questioning look, Harry explained how he got the book, glossing over the rest of the chamber's secrets. He opened it to a spot near the beginning, to a page that he and Uncle Abe had already translated, as he shared with her what he knew of the book and its author.

"Turns out he wasn't that bad." Seeing Hermione's glare, he amended, "well, he wasn't evil. He didn't like the Unforgivables much, and he was moved by the plight of the werewolves."

"Oh yes," Hermione droned, "if you set aside that whole Muggleborns aren't worthy bit, he was a right friendly chap."

"That's not what I meant," Harry snapped. "Er, well, maybe it was … a little bit. I just meant that just because he was wrong on that subject, doesn't mean he wasn't spot on with others."

"Harry … he left a basilisk behind to kill the mudbloods!"

"Did he though?" Harry asked, but continued before she could respond. "Ever since I started reading this book, I've been wondering. In the entire history of the school, there was only one other time when the basilisk attacked – and that was thanks to Tom Riddle. There had never been a single reported incident before him of any student being petrified or killed like that."

"How would you know that," Hermione asked.

"Because after our Second Year Seba researched it, just like you did. Only he had access to way better materials. He even talked to the portraits of the old Headmasters. And you can't convince me that Riddle and I are the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since Slytherin left. I mean, the man had kids … he had nieces and nephews … for a while, it was a very prolific family."

Hermione looked skeptical. "Then why leave the basilisk?"

"Personally, I think it was some twisted guard dog. See, any Parselmouth can open the Chamber, right? But he only wanted certain ones in there. Slytherin had a brother and a sister, and he probably didn't want them anywhere near his stuff. Really, look at the lengths Ron will go to to protect his things from the twins. Ergo, the snake. It would only listen to Slytherin's heir. Anyone else was just another meal. Perfect guard dog, er, snake."

"Well, I guess that _could_ be right," Hermione conceded, though she sounded far from convinced. "He really felt bad for the werewolves?"

"Oh yeah, his mistress' brother was bitten, and he tried all sorts of things to help the bloke." It sounded good when said aloud, but Harry didn't think Hermione would particularly care for the extreme and immensely painful trials Slytherin had put the man through. "None worked though."

"Well, as fascinating as that is," she said in a voice that closed the subject, "is there a specific reason you're showing this to me, or did you just want to gloat over having a book that I can't read?" The remark sounded harsh, but Harry could see the teasing in her face.

"You can too read it. You just can't, you know, pick it up. Or turn the pages with your bare hands. You … ah … would have to wear gloves for that."

"Why? So my unworthy hands won't soil the book?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, I think so," Harry replied, trying his best to apologize for the slight. "Just remember about not picking it up. It'll snap shut so fast you might lose a finger. In fact …" he trailed off, and with a few quick spells the open journal was stuck on top of another, larger open book. Now she would be able to hold the outer book's cover without triggering the journal's defenses. He also added a mild Repelling Charm so anyone who didn't know about the journal would find it unworthy of their time. As an after thought, he offered to find her a pair of wool gloves, but with a smirk she used her wand to make the pages turn themselves.

Smiling, he pointed to the top edge of the book. "That red string marks were I've left off, and all my notes are stuffed in the back. I only ask that if you decide to translate any of it, you write it down for me so I don't end up duplicating your work."

She raised an eyebrow. "You just assume that I would want to jump right in and decipher it for you?"

"Yep, that's exactly what I assume. Will you?" he asked, giving her his most beseeching look.

"You know me too well," she laughed. "I'll let you know what I get done."

-000-

To Harry's eternal delight, the journal had proven to be the perfect distraction for Hermione. He'd have felt bad for tricking her, except he knew she was enjoying the challenge.

So far, no body else seemed the least bit suspicious that Harry and Ginny might be plotting something. By now it was Wednesday, and they'd decided this was the day. It started innocently enough at breakfast, with Harry commenting to Ginny that she needed to learn to cook just like her mother. Ginny's responding glare would have been enough to cause Dobby to rush off and punish himself.

By lunch, the two were speaking in that overly polite, _I'm-so-mad-I-want-to-strangle-you_ way that is an instant signal to everyone else that an explosion is imminent. Sure enough, as Harry asked Mrs. Weasley for another of her scrumptious rolls during lunch, Ginny grabbed one from the nearby basket and tossed it at him. OK, whipped it at his head. Not expecting the incoming projectile, the roll hit him just above his left eyebrow, knocking his glasses off-center and leaving a red mark.

Harry jumped from his seat and leaned toward her in a menacing manner. "Well forgive me for liking your Mum's cooking," he shouted. "Some of us weren't raised with food just any time we wanted it!"

Molly and Hermione cringed, but Ginny was unmoved. "That's right Harry. Blame all your shortcomings on the Muggles. It couldn't possibly be little Harry's fault that he's a male chauvinist pig when he was raised by the King Porker."

"OH … that's rich. Well if I'm a chauvinist, than you're a … a … _girly-girl_."

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK, POTTER!" Ginny jumped from her seat, drawing her wand by habit.

"Nope, don't think I will, _gentle Ginevra_," Harry sweetly replied, his own wand now in his hand. Using it as a pointer, he poked it in the general direction of hers. "And you best put that away. You're a bit too young to play with that outside of school, sweetheart. Wouldn't want you getting in any trouble with the Ministry."

Not waiting for a response, he shrugged Ron's hand off his shoulder – _'when did he grab me?'_ – and stalked out the kitchen door. For good measure, he stomped all the way down the hall and up the stairs. He could hear Molly laying into poor Ginny for her behavior as he slammed his bedroom door shut.

Leaning against the closed door, he felt his body shaking with laughter that he fought to contain. Just moments later, Ron stood outside the room, trying to get Harry to let him into the room by explaining that Ginny was always a bit of a nutter, and that it was probably just that time of the month. Harry curtly thanked Ron for his concern but refused to open the door, insisting he wanted to be left alone. After a time, when Ron could be heard moving away, he breathed a sigh of relief and flopped onto his bed.

He waited another half-hour, just to be safe. Then he pulled his backpack from under his bed and checked the contents one more time. Invisibility cloak – check. Dress trousers and shirt – check. Wad of Muggle cash and fake ID cards – check. Thank heavens he knew what those were supposed to look like. Patting his chest, where his Mokeskin pouch hung, he felt for the small round shapes; wedding rings – check.

For good measure, he sent a few extra spells at his door: a Repelling Charm to make anyone knocking think they needed to piddle, and a Stinging Hex on the door knob, should anyone try to force their way in. As a last line of defense, the bed was charmed so the lump under the covers looked like it was breathing. The spells wouldn't hold overnight, but he didn't need that much time.

Harry moved over to his window, which conveniently overlooked the back garden, with its stagnant water pond, overgrown plants, and rusted old furniture. Someday, Harry planned to turn the walled area into a peaceful refuge. But for now, he took full advantage of the wild vines that were growing up the side of the house. He climbed out the window and, using the uneven bricks as footholds, he pulled himself up the vines and into an open attic window ... where he stumbled into the waiting arms of his girlfriend. After a few moments of laughing at his ungraceful landing, Ginny pulled him close for a long kiss. "Sorry about earlier," she said, as she inspected the small scratch left by the flying roll.

"S'alright," he replied. "I'm sure even if I didn't deserve it today, I probably had it coming to me for something."

"Well," she said, tapping her head as if in thought, "you _are_ too cheeky for your own good."

"Hey, you weren't supposed to agree." Harry stepped away from her and called for Kreacher. "Got everything?" he called over his shoulder as the elf appeared. To him, he said, "Alright Kreacher. Ginny and I are leaving the house for a bit, remember? I've covered my room, though I doubt anyone's going to go looking for me." He shifted his gaze to Ginny as he added, "guess that's one good thing that came from Fifth Year – when I get in a mood, everyone tends to steer clear."

Turning back to Kreacher, Harry reviewed his instructions. He was to stay in the attic and pretend to be Ginny if anyone tried to find her. And using his special magic, he was to insure that no one came through that door.

When Ginny signaled that she was ready he left the nervous elf and joined her at the window. "Don't you worry, Master Harry. Kreacher will be taking care of everything. The blood traitors will not be knowing you and your Mistress have left the property."

Ginny threw Harry a worried look, but he shook his head slightly. He knew that Kreacher hadn't meant the slur – well, not much anyway – but old habits were hard to break. With one final reminder to the elf to stay firm and guard his secret, he climbed out the window and onto the narrow windowsill. Once he felt secure, he helped his future wife do the same. Working together, they made it to the ground below without incident, where Harry was struck with the insane thought that he owed Ripper a debt of thanks.

Once in the walled garden, they were careful to stay close to the house and between windows, so as not to be seen from inside. Standing close, Harry covered the two of them with his invisibility cloak, then pulled Ginny close for a quick peck. "Ready?" he asked, just before he took them both on the first leg of their journey.

Having never been to Gretna Green, Harry was unable to Apparate there. Instead, he'd picked a remote spot; one not easily connected to either of them, should they actually be discovered as missing. Harry had chosen the alley that he used when he went to his appointments with Doctor Tony. It was a place he knew would be safe to Apparate into, and more importantly the Weasleys wouldn't know to search.

Arriving in the secluded alley, Ginny stepped out from under the cloak, pushing its edge off Harry's head so she wouldn't lose sight of him. Opening her own bag, she withdrew a dark, heavy-looking robe that was eerily similar to those worn by Death Eaters, except this one was a deep burgundy. Once so dressed, she pulled her hair back and secured it with a tie, then pulled the hood up. As expected, it shadowed her face just enough that one wouldn't get a clear look at her, but without looking like she was trying to hide her identity.

Harry watched as she pulled something from her pocket – an innocent looking candy. She glanced over to him, a pleading look on her face.

"Best to just do it," he encouraged. Slowly, as if hoping he would stop her, she put the candy to her mouth and bit off one end. She shoved the other half back into her pocket, and rubbed her stomach in anticipation of what was to come.

"Never enjoy this part," she managed to say before she started to gag. Knowing time wasn't on their side now, Harry slipped back under his cloak as Ginny pulled her wand. She thrust it into the air as she swallowed down the first bit of vomit that was climbing her throat.

As a huge purple monstrosity banged into existence in front of them, Harry ran his hand soothingly over her back. "Remember," he whispered next to her ear, "I'll tap you in the back so you know I'm behind you. Don't get jumpy, and don't let them leave without me."

By this time, the conductor had poked his head out the door and was rattling off the standard speech. But this was no Stan Shunpike. This was an elderly man; no, make that an ancient man. He was rather short (even Harry was taller) and wrinkly and very thin, and Harry wondered how that frail looking body could withstand the constant bumping and banging of the bus. He was completely bald, not a single hair was on top of his head, and perhaps this is what made the stringy hairs sticking from his nose seem so noticeable. When he spoke, it was with a strange, thick accent that Harry couldn't place, and that combined with his unnaturally soft voice made him rather hard to understand.

Just as he finished speaking Ginny groaned, leaned forward, and vomited spectacularly on his shoes … and the bus steps … and even managed a bit on the tires. The conductor just watched, as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. After he was certain she was done, he used his wand to clean the mess, and then looked at her pointedly as he cleared his throat.

"Need to get home," she ground out. "Too sick for floo … Gretna Green … worth extra if you get me there fast." She reached into her outermost pocket and withdrew three gold coins, which she tossed into his outstretched hand as she swallowed to keep what was left of her lunch down.

The gold was part of their plan. Harry had recalled that his trip from Surrey to London had cost 11 Sickles, the exact same as the cost in Fifth Year from London to Hogwarts. So they had figured that one Galleon would cover Ginny's fare to Gretna Green plus any extras. To be fair, since there would actually be two passengers, they doubled it. It'd been Ginny's idea to throw in a third, figuring it should help insure that they were dropped off sooner rather than later. Of course, Ginny's constant spewing should be enough to insure that.

She stepped cautiously onto the bus, grateful to feel Harry's tapping. Looking around her shoulder, Harry noted the daytime layout was much as he'd remembered it - mismatched chairs and benches tossed wildly around the space. There were only a handful of passengers, mostly elderly folk who seemed to all know each other, reminding Harry of the old folks that would spend most of their day at the coffee shops in Little Whinging.

Ginny was moving toward two empty chairs pushed off by themselves when she couldn't hold it in any longer. Without thought, she turned to the side and let it flow – right onto a middle-aged man with a bushy mustache in a crisply pressed robe. He shot from his seat, cussing in the most ungentlemanly way, as Ginny apologized and stumbled into the back of an armchair. Harry had barely had time to step out of her way.

"Here, dearie," said a gray-haired woman from further back, "You take my spot. The fresh air'll do ya good, an' you don't get jostled as much if you're right over the tires. I'll take that seat next to Rutherford." She stuffed her knitting into her bag and stood, looking to the driver – who was still Prang, Harry realized – and shouted, "you be lettin' her off next, you hear me Prang. NEXT!" Several other passengers were quick to repeat the demand.

Harry was just nimble enough to move out of the way as the woman and Ginny danced around one another in the aisle. Once the woman had passed his spot, he cautiously moved toward her vacant seat, which was a faded pink two-person sofa with worn threads at the corners. He squeezed into the end closest to the window – and furthest from the other passengers. Ginny flopped down next to him, letting her head fall back with a groan.

"Just a few more minutes should do it," he whispered, "then you can take the antidote."

Without any forewarning the door snapped shut, and in the very next instant Harry and Ginny were slammed into the wooden chairs in front of them as the bus shot off toward its next stop. Hopefully, Gretna Green.

"Next stop, Westchesterfieldington," the little man shouted, though it was so soft it was hard to hear over the normal sounds of the passengers. Scarce minutes later, after a boy Harry was sure he recognized from Hogwarts stepped off the bus and it was moving again, the conductor called out Gretna Green.

Almost as soon as he'd finished saying the name, the bus lurched to a stop, but it wasn't in any village. It had stopped in the middle of the countryside – it had been summoned. And once again, the abrupt stop slammed Ginny into the chair in front. The sudden motion caused her stomach to churn and she couldn't stop herself from vomiting again, although by this time it was more bile than anything else.

Now that she was out of public view – she was doubled over and every one else had their attention on the door – Harry was able to use his wand to clean the mess. He started to put the wand away, but something – a prickling sort of sixth sense that sent a chill up his spine – told him to keep it out. Stretching his neck, he looked out the window to see who had summoned the bus.

Outside stood a school-aged witch with messy brown hair, her wand still outstretched. But she was making no attempt to board. Instead, she had turned her attention back toward the homestead in the distance. Harry's first thought was that the farm must be her home, and that perhaps she was running away. But then he noticed the other figures running across a field toward her and the bus.

The largest of the three was a woman, her long hair streaming behind her, and she was carrying a small child which looked to be attached, he was wrapped so tightly around her. Her right hand was holding the hand of another child, this one not big enough for Hogwarts, but at least able to run. Although, it really looked like he was being pulled along more so than running. They all had wild looks to them, as if they'd taken flight in the middle of a storm.

Wondering what they were running from, Harry scanned the landscape behind the figures. His breath caught in his throat as he identified the cause of the family's terror. They were hard to see at first, blended into the shadows as they were: Dementors, at least four that he could count, chasing toward the woman and children. Unless he was mistaken, the unnatural darkness he could now make out surrounding the farm meant that many more were still there.

By this time, Ginny had spotted the Dementors too. She started to stand, pulling her wand as she did so. Turning to the seemingly empty space beside her, she hissed, "we need to help."

Outside, the young witch was still standing at the steps of the bus, completely focused on her mother and brothers trying to reach safety. Several gasps of surprise from the other passengers drew Harry and Ginny's attention back to the field. Either the woman had lost her grip on the running child, or the boy had tripped, but either way, he was now lying on the ground. Ignoring – or more likely because of – the danger, the woman turned back to save her son.

One of the Dementors must have had a head start on its brethren, for it was almost upon the fallen child; there was no way the woman would be able to grab him and run in time. Nonetheless, Harry knew what was coming – knew the woman would put herself between the danger and her child – and knew he had to do something.

Ginny was aiming her wand when Harry grabbed her wrist, immediately earning a sharp glare.

"_You're Traceable_. You just hold your wand out to cover me." But he didn't really give her a chance to comply. Her wand was already pointed in the general direction anyway, and he decided to chance it. Poking his own wand out from under the cloak, he thought about where they were headed and said quietly but forcefully, "Expecto Patronum!"

A magnificent silvery stag sprang from his wand. In its eagerness to find its prey, it burst out the bus window, shattering the glass in a pulse of energy. Guided by Harry's will and wand, it charged the Dementor closest to the cowering woman and her fallen child. Just before Prongs got close enough to touch the Dementor, it turned and fled back toward the farm.

After circling the little family once, Prongs turned his attention to the other three charging Dementors, forcing them to retreat. Instead of pursuing, Prongs paused, looking back to Harry as if seeking his orders. "Get 'em all … clear the farm," Harry whispered, knowing he couldn't be heard, but that the patronus would listen nevertheless. And it did, seeming to gallop off with the speed of a well-aimed bludger.

Outside the bus the woman and her sons had finally arrived, and the little girl threw herself at her mum in relief and joy.

It was the grumpy mustache-man – Rutherford he'd been called – who finally had the sense to help the family onto the bus. Once they were all aboard, huddled together in the entryway, he turned to the driver. "Best get us out of here, Ern. We can sort out fees and destinations later."

"Should we head to the farm, though?" asked the kind woman who'd given up her sofa for Ginny.

"Nnn…no," cried the woman as she violently shook her head. "I don't think there's anyone left. Roderick was … was …" and she dissolved into tears, her body slumping down onto the grimy walkway of the bus.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as the woman's words sank in. Snapping out of it, the gray-haired woman went to comfort the grieving witch while another passenger helped maneuver the children into nearby seats. Ginny called out that chocolate would help, and the conductor bustled away to find some.

Now that everyone was safely on board Harry looked to the driver, expecting Ernie to put the bus in gear and get it moving. Instead, he saw the driver slump forward just as waves of cold and despair slammed into him and the rest of the passengers. Looking into the unnatural darkness that had suddenly enveloped the bus, he realized that while everyone's attention had been focused on the entry-side of the bus, at least three Dementors had somehow come around and approached the opposite side of the bus.

The boldest – or perhaps the hungriest – was actually pressing itself against the glass window beside the driver, which was luckily closed. For one insane moment, Harry was afraid the Dementor would slice through the glass, much like a ghost could. But that was impossible; he knew first-hand the demons were solid.

The other Dementors were crowding the bus, though not yet bold enough to touch it. Already, Harry could hear his mother's cries, but this time they were drowned out by his own voice, speaking words he'd never chosen, but had meant nonetheless: _'If death means nothing, than kill us now'._ And he could almost feel it again; the pain, the feeling of being suffocated inside his own body, the desperate certainty that this was the end, and then … the desire that this _be_ the end.

A soft groan freed him from his thoughts, and he looked around wildly, reassuring himself that this was reality. Barely staying upright on their seat was a pale and shaking Ginny. Not that she was giving up the fight. She was holding out her wand, aiming it at the ceiling although Harry was sure she was trying for the windows. She was trying to call her Patronus, but she was stuttering and stumbling over the words. Not even mist was coming from her wand.

Seeing her struggle, something sparked within him, and Harry forced himself to remember anything happy … the soft feel of their first kiss … her infectious laughter as she shared the twins' latest prank … the sparkle in her eyes the first time he told her he loved her …he flipped through their happy memories in milliseconds, reliving the emotions so he could – would protect Ginny's soul. Not caring who saw or heard, he thrust his wand toward the nearest window and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

This time, Prongs shot out of the wand, leapt through a window, and tore straight through the heart of the nearest Dementor. It writhed in agony before seeming to melt away. Harry didn't know if it had somehow been destroyed or if it only looked that way, but really, he didn't care. He watched as every last Dementor disappeared, turning in place so he could check around the entire bus. While he was doing this, Prongs mimicked the motion as if to encircle the people with his protection. When his lap was complete, he stopped and looked regally back to Harry, tipped his head, and dissolved into nothingness.

As the entire bus snapped out of its lethargy, he hastily hid his wand under the cloak and dropped onto the seat, wrapping an invisible arm around Ginny for strength. Up front, someone revived the driver and far sooner than Harry would have thought safe, a loud bang was both heard and felt as the bus sped away from the farm. This time, in addition to the normal roughness of the ride, they were treated to a wind tunnel thanks to the blown out windows. Only the protective spells on the bus kept the shards of glass from taking flight and attacking the passengers.

The harsh wind was threatening to rip the cloak off Harry, and he let go of Ginny to grasp it firmly with both hands. Next to him, Ginny had a death grip on her hood. She turned in his general direction and offered a reassuring smile, then threw up on his lap as the Puking Pastille kicked in again.

When the bus lurched to a stop, Harry quickly checked that he was still hidden, then cleaned up Ginny's latest mess. Then he took in his surrounding, as Albus had taught him to do, to figure out where they were. His hopes that they'd made it to Gretna Green were dashed as he spotted the familiar sight of Hogwarts castle standing tall in the distance. They had to be in Hogsmeade, although it was a part that Harry was unfamiliar with.

They must be off the main road, he reasoned, for he thought he could make out some of the more familiar shops in the distance. Taking a second look at his surroundings, he found they'd stopped in front of a long stone building with three overly-tall openings. Harry recognized them as garage doors, big enough to fit the triple-decker buses. Each opening was topped with a purple and white stripped canopy, although they were faded and wind-torn in places. Bright purple letters stood upright from the roof, spelling out 'The Knight Bus'.

As the rest of the passengers came to the same conclusion, the conductor told everyone to sit tight while he reported in. Behind the steering wheel, Ernie Prang tipped his hat over his face and let his head drop on his chest. Shortly thereafter, his soft snores filled the bus.

Before Harry could decide if they should make a break for it, the conductor returned, bringing a kind looking middle-aged woman wrapped in a knit shawl with him. As she made her way to the traumatized family, the conductor began handling out chocolate frogs. "On the house today, folks," he announcing, or maybe it was "our mouse toady forks" – he was very hard to understand.

The woman, meanwhile, had been speaking softly with both the mother and her daughter, eventually convincing them to follow her off the bus. The mother was clutching her youngest child so tightly Harry feared the poor thing would suffocate. Behind them the girl, the one that had flagged down the bus in the first place, was hugging the other boy – the one that had fallen, and had twisted his ankle by the look of his limp – and letting him lean on her for support. Harry couldn't help but wonder how many souls had been lost back at the farm.

The children had barely stepped off the last step when two men bustled aboard. The lead man, a middle-aged fellow with hair greasier than Snape's and dirt on his face and hands, wasn't wearing robes. Instead, he had on some kind of one-piece jump suit that was smeared with black muck, reminding Harry of a Muggle janitor. He grumbled for everyone to sit still and watch themselves as he set to work, waving his wand far more gracefully then his appearance would have suggested.

At first it was hard to see the results, but little by little the air was filled as shards and slivers of glass rose gently and floated around the bus. It was a strangely beautiful sight, with light being refracted in every direction as the glass pieces twisted and turned mid-air in slow motion; they would cross each others paths with ease as each piece, from the largest to the tiniest, searched out its original home. By the time the dance was over, the windows were nearly whole again.

"I'll get the rest from the outside," he said to the man who'd come aboard with him, who up to this point had been lounging near the entrance.

"'Bout time," the other snidely spit out as the repair man debarked.

This second man, now that Harry could see him properly, was dressed in Auror's robes. But he wasn't just any Auror; no, they had been lucky enough to get Auror Dawlish. As Dawlish looked over the bedraggled passengers, Harry began to panic. Did Dawlish know the form of his Patronus? He remembered quite clearly mentioning it at his trial for underage magic. What he couldn't remember was if Dawlish had been there – he'd so many run-ins and official 'dealings' with the Ministry by now that it was hard to keep them all straight. If Dawlish knew, he was done for. Prongs would have been hard for the other passengers to miss, what with the way he tended to prance around before disappearing. _'Arrogant like his namesake?'_

Dawlish's loud demand for quiet snapped him back to attention. With a sideways glance at Ginny, he knew she was thinking the same thing he was - they needed to get off this bus. Or get Dawlish off the bus. Either one, really.

Standing at about the center of the bus, the Auror rambled on for a while about safety and law, but Harry wasn't really listening. His attention was already split between a tense and clammy Ginny, who very much looked like she wished she hadn't eaten that frog, and the elderly lady that had been such a help when they'd first boarded. That woman was also watching Ginny, and it was starting to make Harry nervous, for he'd have sworn the woman was also watching the empty space next to Ginny, otherwise known as him.

The next thing Harry knew, Ginny was kicking him in the shin. It seemed that Rutherford, nasty man Ginny had accidentally spewed on, was telling Dawlish that it was she who had cast the first Patronus.

"Is that so?" the Auror barked out. "Care to tell me who you are, missy? Not many civilian witches can produce a corporeal Patronus."

Ginny lifted her head to reply, when fate and trick candies once again kicked in. Instead of speaking, she leaned into the aisle and vomited. Since her stomach had just been refilled with chocolate frog, the mess that appeared had the look of chocolate ice cream melted in the sink – dark brown and still lumpy in spots. The puddle was relatively small, but that didn't make it any less gross by the Auror's standards. He took a huge leap backwards, even though she had missed him by several feet, and had placed the Bubble-Head Charm on himself before Ginny had even straightened back up.

"What's wrong with you? You're not contagious, are you? I could write you up for public endangerment, you know." He started toward Ginny with a dark look on his face, worrying both the teens. If they were found out now, not making it to Gretna Green would be the least of their concerns.

Careful to keep his wand hidden from view, Harry sent a quick Trip Jinx at the advancing Auror. Dawlish dropped his wand in an attempt to stop himself from falling into Ginny's vomit, but he missed the edge of the chair. A split-second before he crashed down, Harry canceled the Bubble-Head Charm, and Dawlish landed face-first in the slimy, putrid mess. With a muttered curse, he pulled himself up, fished his wand off the floor, and cleaned himself (twice, for good measure).

Behind the Auror, the elderly woman clucked. "We were planning to take that poor girl home when we were called to that farm, young man. So how about I make your job a bit easier for you, so we can be on our way. I think we can all agree," she stood and motioned with her arm to encompass the other occupants on this level of the bus, "that a corporeal Patronus is an incredible feat. And that second Patronus was most certainly corporeal. But it also originated outside the bus – meaning its castor is not among us now." She looked around the bus, her eyes resting oh so briefly at Harry's apparently-empty seat. "But that first Patronus Charm, why it was hardly more than mist, wouldn't you agree Rutherford?"

At the woman's pointed look, the grouchy man quickly agreed. "Just so, Matilda. Lucky it scared anything away, if you ask me."

Matilda gave Rutherford a slight smile, pleased with his answer. Addressing the rest of the passengers, she asked, "Now that's what you all saw, wasn't it?"

Cries of "yes ma'am", and one hearty "darn tootin'" sounded throughout the bus, and Dawlish made an executive decision. Although … the gagging noises Ginny was making might have helped. "Of course, Mrs. Dimpleton," he said, addressing Matilda, "it would appear that you are correct, and that everyone's statements will match. If you would agree to write up your account and forward it to the Auror's office, I imagine we can call this a closed case and let you folks get on your way."

After sharing a few more words with Matilda Dimpleton (who Harry suspected was someone on par with Augusta Longbottom, given Dawlish's instant recognition and easy acceptance of her claims) the Auror left the bus, and Harry began to relax.

Glancing back at the elderly witch that had just saved his skin, he again had the feeling she was looking right at him. He was positive that Mrs. Dimpleton knew he was there. He was even starting to think she knew his identity, as crazy as that sounded. But it was alright, because whatever she did or didn't know, one thing was clear. She had purposely protected Ginny.

The frail little conductor snapped the doors shut the second the Auror had disembarked, the sound immediately bringing Ernie out of his nap and to full attention. With no warning whatsoever, he hit a button and threw the bus into gear. It appeared Harry and Ginny would be going to Gretna Green after all.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** My apologies to KITT. Westchesterfieldington is kinda borrowed from the Adam Sandler movie Mr. Deeds, but I don't think I have it exactly the same. If you saw the movie, you'd get the joke.

About my updates: If you've read my profile, you know my oldest daughter figure skates - and I very stupidly agreed to chair the program committee for our annual ice show. (Note to self, learn to say 'no'). Unfortunately, that means that updates will be sporadic until the end of March. After that, I hope to get back to my every-other-week schedule. Thanks for understanding.

Consider yourselves warned: the next chapter contains a fair amount of mushiness. And finally (imagine this in a sing-song voice) - somebody's gettin' married!


	20. Arthur's Reaction

To quote Groucho, "Last night I shot an elephant in my pajamas and how he got in my pajamas I'll never know." Just checking to see if anyone actually reads these.

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**Chapter 20. Arthur's Reaction**

A great purple beast shot into existence near a dilapidated barn on the outskirts of Gretna Green, Scotland, crashing through branches as it abruptly stopped a bit too close to a tall tree. The suddenness of the stop – while expected – still caught the two teens (one still hidden under his father's old cloak) off guard, and they were once again thrown forward.

Vanishing a bungee-like strap from his chest, the conductor jumped from his seat and announced the stop, or maybe commented on the weather – Harry still couldn't understand the man very well. It must have been the former, for he then put his hands on his hips and glared at Ginny as if he could remove her from the bus by force of will alone.

Back in her seat, oblivious to the death glare, Ginny was hunched forward, giving the appearance that she was going to be sick yet again. In actuality, she was gobbling down the antidote end of the Puking Pastille. When they got back to Grimmauld Place, right after she thanked her brothers for their invention, she was going to kill them for inventing it!

As she slowly stood on shaky legs Harry bumped her hand, and when he pulled away he'd left a money pouch behind. No words were said, but they didn't need to be. Ginny stumbled as she slowly left her seat, and Harry wasn't sure if it was by design or not, but he used the opportunity to move around her and exit the bus.

With deliberate steps, Ginny started forward, but she stopped when she came to their protector, Mrs. Dimpleton. The elderly woman had gone back to her knitting, but she glanced up to see what Ginny wanted.

"Please see they get this," she simply said as she handed over the bag full of gold and silver.

Stopping her knitting, she tilted her head to look up at Ginny, and for a moment seemed to study the face inside the shadowed hood. A small smile crept across her face, as if she knew and approved of the true reason for Ginny's trip. "And they say the young have no manners. I'll see that they're taken care of. You just get better now, right dearie?" She patted Ginny's hand affectionately, then went back to her knitting.

Ginny smiled and assured her she'd be fine before turning and escaping the confines of the bus. It was almost surreal, stepping into the warm, bright sunlight of a perfect summer day so soon after fleeing the Dementor attack, and she paused mid-step to tilt her face toward the sun. No doubt, like Harry she was still feeling the effects of the demons – she having regurgitated her chocolate, and the invisible Harry hadn't been offered any.

Although she'd stepped off the bus, she was still grasping the handrail, much to the annoyance of the conductor; that is, until she felt Harry's comforting tap on her back. Then, she quickened released her hold on the bus and stepped away. Seconds later, a stiff breeze blew her hair into her face and made her cloak dance – and she didn't have to look to know the Knight Bus had left.

Seeing no one in sight, Harry pulled off his cloak and pulled Ginny into his arms. They stood like that for some time, each drawing warmth and comfort from the other, until Harry finally pulled back to say, "Maybe … maybe we should just go back."

Ginny didn't response, but she did turn her head to look into his face.

Harry's voice was soft and full of regret as he explained, "Maybe we shouldn't have left the safety of Headquarters."

"Are you saying you don't want to get married today?" she asked, her voice sounding more shocked than angry.

"No …I still do," he quickly replied. "I guess I'm just not sure we should. It doesn't seem right, ya know? For us to continue on like nothing happened when that family was just torn apart."

"If it weren't for you, _Mister Potter_," she responded, and this time it was obviously anger in her voice, "that family would have all been Dementor kibble, and probably all those people on that bus besides. Or did you see some Patronus other than yours out there today? 'Cause I sure didn't." She looked him straight in the eye, a fierceness on her face told of a fire smoldering beneath the surface. "Those people – the everyday witches and wizards that spend their days riding around on a bus … they don't know like we do. They read about the attacks, but they don't understand them. And they sure as hell don't know how to fight them. Our sneaking out today … our being there … it was a good thing, Harry."

"No need to shout, Ginny," he answered, sounding slightly sheepish. "I see your point. We saved them today, and that is a good thing. But … I just can't help but feel weird about it. Those poor kids …" he trailed off, imagining what life would be like for them now

"Harry," she said, bringing him back to the present, "don't you see? Voldemort does things like that to take away our drive, our resolve. He _wants_ us to give up and wallow in despair. We can't give him what he wants."

He searched her eyes for a moment, then with a smile bent down and kissed her. "I get it. I get to be married to you, and I get to stick it to him at the same time. I think that's called a win-win." He stepped away and took her hand in his. "Come on, let's find some chocolate and get checked into the Inn. We have a wedding to get ready for."

After a quick stop at a convenience store to load up on chocolate and ask directions, they found The Anvil Inn, where Harry had reserved a room. They checked in under the names Harvey and Jenny Dursley, using the fake ID cards he'd conjured. If the clerk was suspicious of the cards, he didn't say; and the handsome tip he received insured he wouldn't dwell on it later.

Opening the door to their room, Harry ushered his soon-to-be bride into the space. It was, he supposed, a standard Muggle room, with a desk and chair, a wooden stand holding a television, and a door leading to a private bath. But the room was dominated by the over-sized bed, covered in a luxurious blue velvet spread. He closed and locked the door, and dropped his bag on the floor on his way to the bed.

Suddenly self-conscious, he turned back to see that Ginny hadn't moved. In fact, she appeared to be rather fixated on the bed. Harry let himself fall onto the bouncy mattress, then patted the spot next to him in invitation. That seemed to snap Ginny back to herself, and she moved over as if to join him. But instead of turning to sit, she stopped in front of his knees. "I'm going to take a quick shower and get ready in the bathroom. You'll have to make do out here."

Harry checked his watch. "No problem, just don't take forever. It's nearly half past two, and we need to get a move on if we want to have time after to … er …"

"Consummate our marriage?" Ginny asked, a saucy grin on her face.

"Yeah, that."

"Alright, I'll keep it quick," she assured him as she gave him a quick peck on the forehead and walked away.

Alone in the room, Harry changed into his dress slacks and shirt, using his wand to remove the wrinkles and shine his shoes. He decided to wear his mokeskin pouch, tucking it into his shirt were it couldn't be seen. He did, however, transfer the wedding rings to his trouser pocket. A light sticking charm insured they weren't in danger of falling out. In all, it had taken him about 10 minutes to get ready. He could still hear the shower running. With a sigh, he settled onto the bed and turned on the telly – he probably had a bit of time to kill.

Thankfully, Ginny kept her word and reappeared before the half-hour sitcom had ended. Seeing her standing in the doorway brought a goofy grin to Harry's face. He knew she had always dreamed of getting married in a beautiful flowing gown, but he thought she was perfect just as she was. She had chosen a simple summer dress in some shade of off-white with gold threads woven throughout which came down to just below her knees. The top was held in place by two straps which were pulled behind her neck and held together. Her hair was pulled away from her face so that it flowed down her back, and Harry was surprised to see a few loose curls. Since she hadn't been able to use magic, she had to have done it the Muggle way.

Finally finding his voice, he told her how beautiful she looked. To which she snorted – _snorted_ – and called him a fool in love. Then … they just stood there, as if they didn't know what to do next. Ginny was the first to break out of the trance by asking what time it was, and that was enough to get them moving.

They strolled hand-in-hand the short distance to the only chapel that performed Wizarding ceremonies, MacQuistion's Hall. To Muggles, the sign out front always read 'No Openings Today', but for magical beings it read 'last ceremony at sunset'. Entering the stone building, which resembled an old blacksmith shop more than a wedding hall, they found themselves in a long entryway, softly lit by dozens of candles which reflected light off the many mirrors and gold fixtures. There were delicately carved wooden benches on either side of a set of formal looking doors which had been painted with gold dust. Across from the farthest bench was an unoccupied desk, a rickety old pedestal standing next to it. A sign floating above it declared "Sign In Here."

As the entry door clicked shut behind them, the ghost of a forlorn young woman who appeared to be dressed for her own wedding, drifted through a nearby wall and greeted them.

"There's a ceremony in progress," she told them, "such a … happy looking couple," she added, chocking back a sob. After dabbing her eyes with a kerchief that probably never left her hand, she pointed to the sign-in book and explained, "You just need to sign in to declare your intentions, then you can have a seat and wait to be called." With one last, longing look at Ginny, she disappeared back through the wall.

Harry walked over to the old stand upon which sat a simple register. He picked up the quill, dipped it in the ink, and reached for the book, but at the last second, he jerked the quill away. Taking a breath, he re-inked the quill and moved it toward the book again, only to stop yet again. Taking another calming breath, he dropped the quill back in its holder, rubbing his hands together. He glanced over his shoulder and found Ginny checking her hair in a mirror.

She spotting him watching her and smiled up to him. He nodded in response before turning back to the book. It was a very Muggle looking book, he realized. It was spiral-bound, something he'd never seen before in a Magical world, and the pages had lines for His and Hers names, a sign-in time, and a box that would be checked off when they were called. Intrigued – _'not stalling … just curious'_ – he started reading through the book. The only names on this page were a Mister Dabney Warrington and a Miss Yasmine Dawlish, who had only arrived twenty minutes ago and were obviously the couple getting married right now.

Flipping back a page, he started reading the names. _'Finster, don't know him … Bigby, don't know her … Bagnold … Christie … Lupin … wait'_ "Lupin?" he shouted out, drawing Ginny's attention. "Hey Gin, you gotta see this."

Coming over, she looked where he was pointing, reading aloud, "Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, 9:00 am. Oh my goodness … Professor Lupin and Tonks got married! I wonder why they came here? Didn't they realize that people would want to be there?"

"You mean like how we're getting married without telling anyone," Harry asked, "how could they do _that_?"

"Er, yeah," Ginny meekly replied, as if she had suddenly realized the consequences of what they were about to do. The atmosphere in the room had definitely dimmed since when they'd arrived. She began flipping through the pages of the book, more for something to do than from interest. "You know," she practically whispered, "I just realized. When we sign in, everyone that comes after us will be able to see our names. We won't be able to keep this a secret for very long."

"Maybe it shouldn't be a secret, Ginny," Harry replied, just as quiet. "Maybe wedding aren't meant to be like this," he turned his body, gesturing around the empty waiting area.

Ginny swept the tastefully decorated, but utterly empty room with her eyes. "I know what you mean. It's beautiful, but, I don't know … sterile, maybe? I guess I thought it would be more festive or happy, or something." She looked back to Harry. "We'll just have to make our own happiness, right?"

She sounded sure of herself, but Harry was certain he saw doubt in her eyes. Or maybe he was just seeing what he himself felt. As she reached to pick up the quill his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm.

"Hold it, Ginny. I don't think I can do this."

"What do you mean, you can't do this? Of course you can." She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, and though her voice was still barely more than a whisper, the words might as well have been shouted. "I thought we'd already discussed this."

"I don't mean it like that," he quickly tried to explain. "I want to marry you – I swear I do. But not like this … not hidden away like it's something wrong. I want our wedding to be a happy time. And I want your Dad to give you away, and Albus to stand by me, and Ron and Hermione deserve to be there, too. I want all your family and all our friends to be happy about it, not mad at us for excluding them. I mean … I really don't want to be the one to tell your Mum that she missed her only daughter's wedding. Do you?"

Ginny turned away, looking past Harry's shoulder. "No," she finally said, "I don't think that would go over very well." She shuddered as she remembered her mother's ranting when she'd discovered Bill had eloped. "And … maybe there are some things we haven't thought through all the way." She turned her head so she was looking him in the eye, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "But, I still want to marry you."

"And I still want to marry you," he said, kissing her on the nose, "and I promise," – kiss on the right cheek – "someday" – kiss on the left cheek – "I will marry you." Quick peck on the lips. "But this isn't right."

"I know what you mean." She leaned her head onto his shoulder. "I want to do this so much, but this seems … I don't know …"

"Fake?"

She pulled her head back to look at him again. "I was thinking underhanded. Sneaking away from our families and doing it without them. It sounded so romantic when we planned it, but being here, it just feels … I mean, if we aren't willing to tell everyone upfront what we're doing, that kinda tells us something right there, doesn't it." She sighed and moved her head back to his shoulder. "So, does this mean we're going back now?"

'Well," he said, leaning down so he was talking into her ear. "We don't have to go straight back. I mean, we've already paid for that hotel room, and you went to all that trouble to get that potion; it would seem a waste to not use them."

Ginny pulled back, a gleam in her eye that would make the twins proud. "Well then, Mister Potter. I seem to recall that we practiced getting married once. Maybe we should practice for the honeymoon."

Back in their hotel room, they wasted little time. It wasn't until Harry's hand strayed – and he remembered those blasted zaps – that he recalled the rather major detail known as the Chastity Charm. With a quick flick of his wand, he growled out the counter-charm, only to groan. "Gin, I don't think it worked. You were supposed to glow blue."

"Well, check it!" she urged; the words 'you idiot' unsaid, but clearly heard.

Harry gently touched his fingers to her thigh, and when nothing happened, he boldly went where he hadn't gone before.

-000-

Somewhere in the distance, church bells were tolling as two figures appeared in the overgrown garden behind #12, Grimmauld Place. Getting nervous, for they were later than they'd planned, they hastily climbed their way back up to the attic window. It was getting close to dinner time, and Mrs. Weasley would no doubt be coming to coax them into attending the meal.

They barely made it into the stuffy room when an insistent pounding began from the other side of the door. "Right, you two. I've had enough," shrieked the voice of Molly Weasley, "You will open this door _right now, _or so help me_…"_

In a moment of panic, Ginny rushed to the door and jerked it open. "Fine Mum, you don't have to yell." She'd tried to hold the door so her mother couldn't see into the room, but Molly had far more experience with sneaky teenagers than Ginny did with hiding boys.

In a far calmer voice than Harry would have expected, Molly said, "I'll assume you two have made up then? No more misuse of my baked goods?"

"Er …"

"It's alright, Harry dear," she assured him as she leaned around her daughter so she could address him directly. "I was once young and in love, too. Just don't let Arthur catch the two of you alone like this. Even with that Chastity Charm in place, Arthur tends to be overprotective of his little girl. You just wait until you have one of your own, Harry, and you'll understand me. Oh ... but listen to me! We need to get you two married first, then we can talk about my future grandbabies." Giving the two one last look, she turned away and started down the steps, leaving the door wide open. "Five minutes, you two, then I expect to see you in the kitchen."

Dinner was spent with Ron and his brothers teasing Harry that as a seeker, he really should have caught that flying roll earlier. Harry took it in stride, just thankful that no one had noticed that he and Ginny had left the house. As everyone was finishing up their pudding, he was silently thanking God and Merlin and even the King of the Nargles that they were in the clear.

Too bad for Harry – God was busy, Merlin was dead, and Nargles were a matriarchal society.

The four teens had retired to Ron's bedroom to play a couple rounds of Gobstones when Molly appeared in the doorway. "Harry, Ginny … Albus is here and he says he needs some help with something. He's waiting for you in the library."

Harry inwardly panicked, and judging by the look on her face, Ginny was feeling the same. Ignoring the questions flashing across Hermione's face, the two silently headed to their doom. Reaching the closed library door, Harry took Ginny's hand in his own and gave it a comforting squeeze. Wishing himself luck, he knocked on the door, and was immediately called in.

The first thing Harry noticed upon entering the room was the look on his guardian's face. He couldn't help it; Albus was seated behind the imposing wooden desk once used by the Black family patriarch, and the dark wood of the desk and the bookshelves behind him somehow emphasizing the old man's face.

And what a face it was tonight! The set of his eyebrows and crinkles around the eyes brought to mind Vernon Dursley just before he handed out a particularly nasty chore, like the time Ripper ate an entire plum pudding and then left runny trails all through the house for Harry to clean – a comparison that made Harry stomach roll unpleasantly. Worst yet was the smirky-snarky grin, so reminiscent of Crookshanks preparing to pounce poor Scabbers. All in all, it was a very unsettling sight.

Stepping fully into the room, Harry made his second observation of the night. In front of the desk sat two hard wooden chairs, clearly meant for him and Ginny, which were as uninviting as he was sure they were uncomfortable.

The two had taken a few hesitant steps into the room when the door behind them slammed shut. Looking back, Harry found Arthur Weasley leaning against it. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his smile was more sinister than friendly. Harry had never been more aware of the man's height … or his build.

Gulping, Harry felt Ginny's grip on his hand tighten, and that gave him the strength to turn away from Arthur's glower. With a slight tug, he pulled Ginny over to the chairs and they took their seats. This put them directly in Albus' line of sight. Arthur didn't leave his spot at the door, and Harry could feel the man's hard glare boring into his back. Harry was convinced the man was guarding the door so they couldn't escape.

From behind them Arthur began to speak, but Albus held his hand up to stop him. "Please Arthur, I think it would be best if I begin," he explained, and Arthur must have agreed, for Albus turned his full attention to Harry and began.

"Forgive me for interrupting your evening with your friends, Harry," he said in his normal, pleasant voice, as he casually leaned back in his chair, "but I'm afraid something has come up which I fear concerns you. You see, there was an attack at a wizarding farm near Shrewsbury today. Terrible business … Dementors swarmed the area and kissed several family members and workers. Three of the children were able to escape with their mother, and they summoned the Knight Bus in an attempt to hasten their escape."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, that's terrible," he agreed. He glanced toward Ginny for a moment, but she was keeping quiet. "But you say some of them got away. Are they going to be alright?"

"Yes, they will be fine. But it was a close call. You see, some of the Dementors pursued the family. Luckily, a good Samaritan on the bus knew how to cast the Patronus Charm, and saved not only the family, but likely the other passengers on the bus as well."

Albus stopped speaking, and the uncomfortable silence that followed made Harry squirm in his seat. But beside him sat Ginny Weasley, and she wasn't ready to admit defeat. "That's great, Professor," she cheerfully said. "I'm glad all those people were saved. Was that all you needed – to tell us that story – 'cause really, we already know how to protect ourselves against Dementors. So if that's all, I think we'd really like to get back to our game now. Can't leave Ron for too long, I'm convinced he moves his pieces when nobody's watching him."

Albus, however, ignored the girl as he kept his gaze on Harry. He knew the boy would crack first. "And a most impressive Patronus it was," Albus finally continued, as if Ginny had never spoken. "Most impressive, indeed. Would you care to guess the form it took, Harry?"

"Er … a … a bird, maybe?"

Seeing that her boyfriend was floundering, Ginny interrupted again. "Was it a wolf, Professor? I hear that's Tonk's Patronus, and I know she was out and about today. Or what's that big cat I've seen … I know it belongs to someone in the Order."

"Excellent guesses, my dear, but no. It appears to have been a large four-legged animal. You know, the sort with those big things that look like prongs on their heads." Innocently looking to Arthur, Albus stroked his beard as he implored, "help me out here, Arthur. What are they called?"

"I believe that would be a stag, Albus," Arthur was kind enough to say.

Albus leaned forward like he was about to say more, but he didn't need to. Harry caved. "Alright … we were there," he admitted, knowing it would be a surprise to no one. "But that's a good thing, right? Nobody else on that bus seemed to be able to make one, and without it, that woman and her kids would have been toast."

"Yes Harry," Albus agreed, "you managed to be in just the right place at just the right time to save the day yet again. Since you are of age as well as an Order member, we shall say no more about that." The old man sat back in his seat again, and both teens braced themselves for what would come next.

"No, I think what needs to be discussed is where you went from there. Now … we can continue this little game, with me dangling facts whilst the two of you try to wiggle your way out of trouble, or you can just tell us what we want to know. It is your call, although I warn you I have more tricks up my sleeve than you can imagine."

Looking more at the ceiling than at his guardian, Harry admitted, "We went to Gretna Green. We were going to get married."

By this point, Arthur had moved around so he was just to the side of the kids. Hearing Harry's admission, he looked crestfallen, as if he'd known that was the answer, but he'd still been hoping for a different one. "You went –"

"Arthur," Albus interrupted, "perhaps we should just allow them to tell their story?" With a sigh, the man agreed, and Albus turned back to Harry. "From the beginning, if you would."

Seeing no other option, the teens explained their plan to elope. They told about how Harry had hidden under his cloak while Ginny pretended to be sick. Arthur actually smiled at their use of the Puking Pastilles, although offered that Molly would consider that another reason _not_ to sell the candies. Harry made certain Albus knew they had paid more than enough to cover both fares. Then they launched into their version of the attack on the bus, the side trip to Hogsmeade, and their arrival at Gretna Green.

From there, however, they did some creative editing. By unspoken agreement, neither mentioned the Inn, instead implying they went directly to the chapel. They even ratted out Remus and Tonks, and the news seemed to have taken Albus and Arthur by surprise. The next part was awkward, explaining how they had felt as they waited their turn, and ultimately deciding not to go through with it.

"See," Ginny finished up, thrusting her left hand forward, "I'm still just Ginny Weasley. And it all worked out in the end … Harry played the hero again, innocent women and children were saved, and Mum still gets her fancy wedding. So … all's well that ends well, right?"

"Ginevra," Arthur replied, "you can't honestly expect that that's the end of it. Yes, it's all well and good that Harry saved people, and if Albus is willing to overlook the rest, that's his prerogative. But you are _my_ daughter, not his. And I will decide –"

"All do respect, Mister Weasley," Harry cut in as politely as he could manage, which wasn't really all that polite at all, "but it's not really up to you." Harry managed to refrain from jumping from his seat, but he did stand so he was more evenly matched to the man. "Ginny's old enough to get married – no she is – and if we'd followed through on our plan, she would already be my wife. I understand that you love her and want what's best for her, but you have to know that I do too. It's been your job to look after her for the last sixteen years – I get that. But even though we aren't married _yet_, we will be one day soon, so really … it's not your job anymore. It's mine now."

"Harry, I hardly see where you can say that," Arthur countered. "Ginny is underage, and whether the two of you like it or not, she is my responsibility, and she will do as I say." Ignoring the warning signs of impending eruption, he turned to his daughter and said, "You will not be seeing any more of Harry this summer, and I'm considering –"

He was cut off by angry shouts from both teens.

"If you think you can –" Ginny had started as she sprang up to stand next to Harry, only to be drown out by Harry's voice shouting "As if you could stop –"

"QUIET!" yelled the only voice of reason in the room, and the other occupants instantly did so as they turned to look at Albus.

"Now that I have your attention, perhaps we can stop the posturing and discuss this calmly, like the adults we are – or claim to be." He gave each a pointed look, and even Arthur had the grace to blush as he realized he'd let his emotion get the better of him.

"Yes, Arthur; your daughter snuck away from the house. Not unlike her actions a year ago, when she accompanied Harry to the Ministry. I seem to recall that you were able to see the bigger picture then, so let us endeavor to do so again." Turning to Harry, he continued, "I caution_ you_ against thinking you have any more say in how Ginny behaves than Arthur does. She is her own person, not your pet owl. And I dare say that she would argue she most certainly does not need you fighting her battles."

It was Harry's turn to blush, and he mumbled his apology to his girlfriend, who had been nodding her head emphatically at Albus' words.

"Very well, then why don't we retake our seats, put aside the minor details, and instead focus on the real matter at hand, which I believe is the reason two otherwise level-headed youngsters felt they needed to marry so urgently. I can assume, can I not, that there is no medical reason for your actions?"

"Medical? Er … _oh, NO_ … no … nothing like that," was Harry's harried reply.

Albus chuckled at Harry's flustered response, and that seemed to break the tension in the room. Even Arthur smiled a bit – though perhaps his also contained the slightest bit of relief. Now that calmness prevailed, Harry and Ginny explained their reasoning to the other two. As Albus had suspected, it all came down to Voldemort, and Harry's fear that he might not survive their final confrontation.

Harry's frankness regarding his own mortality profoundly affected Arthur, who shook his head sadly as the boy discussed things like "burial arrangements" and "contingent beneficiaries" the way his own son spoke of broomsticks and homemade tarts.

On a roll now, Harry was explaining " ... if neither of us survive, then we'd want to insure that the Weasleys … and not the Dursleys – or Merlin forbid the Ministry – gets it. I mean, there's so many of them, surely at least …"

Closing his eyes, Arthur felt his anger drain away as he imagined what it must be like to have such concerns at such a young age. Yes, everyone in the family was a target, but Harry was the bulls-eye. The boy knew it, and so did his daughter. And hearing this … this litany of final wishes … he understood. They wanted to be together now, because he might not be alive 'tomorrow'. In retrospect, Arthur was amazed they hadn't followed through on their plan. If it had been him, he was certain he'd have married Molly – family be danged.

In the end, it was Albus who came up with an acceptable solution. He had felt it was important for the teens to wait until Ginny was of age, and not only because it would be easier for the Weasley matriarch and brothers to accept the situation. Albus truly believed that the war would end soon, possibly within the next year. If Voldemort was already defeated, they would be able to relax and truly enjoy their wedding, instead of having to worry about a repeat of Bill and Fleur's celebration.

"What I am suggesting," he explained, "is an Enjoined Betrothal."

Arthur immediately understood, and if his expression was any indication, he thought it an interesting idea.

Harry, however, didn't appear to understand, and at his questioning look, Ginny shook her head to show her own lack of knowledge. So he asked, "Don't suppose you could explain that in plain English?"

Albus chuckled. "Odd, I thought I already was speaking in plain English. An Enjoined Betrothal, Harry, is rather similar to a pre-arranged marriage. Are you familiar with _that_ concept, or should I find even smaller words?"

"Yeah, that I know," replied the boy, who was all too aware he was being teased. "But isn't that a bit eighteenth century?"

"Not at all," Albus assured him with a wave of his hand. "Arranged marriages still occur among some of the old, pureblood families. How else could they assure they stay pure? However, that is not exactly what I am suggesting. I only mentioned it to give you a frame of reference. An Enjoined Betrothal is simply a formalized agreement between two families stating that their children will marry."

"But," he continued, "unlike with the pre-arranged marriage, there is no penalty if the marriage does not occur. Either of the parties to the contract – meaning yourself and Ginny – can nullify the contract at any time upon reaching majority. In a way, it is nothing more than a legally acknowledged engagement. But the upside is this: should the absolute worst happen, and you are killed in this war, your intended," (and he motioned to Ginny as he said this) "is recognized as your legitimate heir. Meaning others, perhaps disgruntled Evans or even Black relatives, cannot usurp her claim."

Neither Harry nor Ginny seemed to know what to say. Arthur, on the other hand, had definitely warmed to the idea. Such an arrangement would, after all, make his Mollywobbles very happy – she'd been expecting this engagement for some time now.

Seeing the uncertainty in the teens' faces, Arthur added his own two knuts. "It means that you are already as good as married, at least in the legal sense. Not only would Ginny have right of inheritance, but she would have the power to act in your place if you are unavailable. And as Albus said, it can be undone at any time before the wedding, with no harm befalling anyone. As long as you don't consummate the relationship, you can go your separate ways if you change your minds. Not that I expect you will," he quickly assured them, "but it's nice to know you can, isn't it?"

Harry and Ginny shared a private look. To Arthur, it must have appeared that they were considering the improbability of them breaking the contract. But in actuality, they were both wondering if there was some kind of notification if it was consummated – it was a pretty safe bet they would be doing _that _again.

After Albus answered a few more questions, the four agreed to enter into the contract. Arthur would be signing as Ginny's parent (it had been deemed best not to mention the contract – or indeed the entire afternoon's activities – to Molly), and Albus would be signing for Harry. It was one of those strange legal quirks that even though he was technically an adult, as a party to the contract, Harry could not sign it.

"Excellent," Albus declared. "Now that we have all the details worked out, all that is left is the contract itself." With a flourish, he pulled a scroll out of his sleeve and flattened it on the desk.

Glancing down, Harry could see that it was the afore agreed upon Enjoined Betrothal contract, and it appeared to already be filled in. "But … " he sputtered, "how did you …?"

With an innocent smile, Albus leaned close and whispered, "magic".

Harry rolled his eyes as he backed away so Arthur could step forward. In mere seconds both men had signed their names, and Albus had rolled it up and stashed it away with a promise to have it recorded in the appropriate office at the Ministry to insure the inheritance clause was registered.

"Well, that's done," Arthur said, the relief evident in his voice. "I guess I should welcome you to the family, Harry." He stuck out his hand, but when Harry went to shake it, he pulled the boy into a big hug. Releasing him, he added, "Now, we just need to decide when to let Molly in on the secret. She'll start planning right away, you know."

The newly (officially) engaged couple looked at each other. Harry shrugged, leaving the decision up to Ginny. Her face light up as she pulled a chain out from under her top. Dangling from the thin gold necklace was the pendant that Harry quickly transfigured back into her engagement ring. He undid the unbreakable charm and removed the chain, allowing the ring to fall into Ginny's waiting hand. Grinning madly, she handed the ring to Harry as she thrust her left hand in his direction.

He obliged by slipping it onto her hand, and then brought it to his lips for a kiss. He felt stupid doing it, but when she squealed and jumped into his arms, he decided it was worth the embarrassment.

Once Ginny had untangled herself from Harry's arms, she wanted to run out and show everyone the ring. Unfortunately, Arthur stopped her before she could get to the door. It seemed he had one last thing to discuss. For sneaking out of the house, and involving Harry in her scheme, Ginny had to agree she would not leave the house again without permission. She easily agreed – she really didn't have anywhere else to go this summer. But then he added another stipulation, and she loudly groaned at the unfairness of it. She had to spend every other morning in the kitchen with her mother, learning how to make all those dishes Harry claimed to be so fond of.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes**: Mushy enough? It's August 6th, in case you wondered about Lupin and Tonks anniversary. I didn't think it needed said, but in case it did: Harry was able to Apparate them both directly from Gretna Green to Grimmauld Place, since he was familiar with the destination.

A little detail you may have forgotten – Albus has a phone at the cottage. That's how Harry was able to make reservations at a Muggle inn.

Own Harry Potter? Why no … no I don't. But thanks for asking.


	21. The Secret of the Two Sisters

Harry Potter is very glad I don't own him. I was driving through this chapter last weekend, editing all the way, when – _BAM_! – I drove right into a plothole. Oh, it was a tiny one, must have just formed, but nonetheless, I had to get right to work filling the hole before it became so big the whole story fell in. And if I owned Harry Potter, he'd have been slinging the metaphorical shovel. But since I don't own him, I had to do it myself. So here it is…all fixed up and safe to read.

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**Chapter 21. The Secret of the Two Sisters**

Over the next few days, every person to step foot in the not-as-gloomy-as-it-was-a-year-ago house known as #12 Grimmauld Place was greeted by a Molly Weasley so giddy she could probably make a Patronus with an accidental flicking of her wand. If Bill was to be believed, she'd actually done it once while trying to set the table.

The glittering engagement ring that Ginny had flaunted so proudly that first night had been transformed back into a lackluster necklace by the next morning. As Ginny grudgingly explained when she'd asked Harry to do it, to openly declare their engagement would make them bigger targets. It was unclear if she was referring to attacks by Voldemort or pranks by the twins, and nobody had bothered to ask, for really, either was probably true.

Hermione, Harry knew, recognized the necklace as the one Ginny had been wearing for a while now, but thankfully she kept her deductions to herself. She really was his best friend, and he mentally made a note to increase the amount of effort he put forth the next time she wanted help with a pet project ... just as long as she didn't give it a stupid acronym.

As expected whenever one deals with secrets, news of the engagement spread beyond the family to most of the Order, and everyone that heard was quick to congratulate the happy couple. Well, most everyone. Some, like Hestia Jones were overly polite in a way that clearly showed they disapproved. But others, Tonks most notably, made such a fuss that Molly actually became a bit territorial regarding the wedding planning.

Speaking of Tonks – Harry and Ginny both noticed the colorful Auror was also wedding-ring-less; and with matching grins, they decided to see how far they could push the secret spouses before the two cracked and shared their own happy news.

Unfortunately, they'd had little opportunity to put that plan into action, as neither Tonks nor Remus was around much the rest of the week. And by Harry's last day at headquarters, all their carefully planned jokes were rendered moot when Arthur slyly commented that the two "were missing so often it was like they'd eloped and were on honeymoon."

Well, that hint was too obvious to be ignored; and Molly was suspiciously absent after breakfast, only to return ranting that yet another couple had displayed an "appalling lack of restraint and courtesy" by eloping. Arthur was quick to calm the brewing storm, but he did spare a pointed glare toward his daughter and her beau.

Completely unfazed by her father's gaze, Ginny lamented their missed opportunity for tormenting that afternoon as the four teens spent the afternoon talking and playing games. Technically, the boys were playing games while the girls were doing the talking. From the sound of it, they were dissecting the pros and cons of shoeless weddings, a discussion Harry was doing his best to ignore. One would have thought Ron was oblivious to it, except Harry noticed his friend's eyes straying from foot to foot around the room more than once.

Ron had taken the engagement surprisingly well, although Harry was on guard for unsolicited packages from the twins, with whom Ron had had at least three private conversations in the last few days. There had been _one_ tense moment, but it was between Ron and Hermione, not Ron and Harry. Hermione had waited until Ron was taking a large gulp of milk then politely asked Harry if he had proposed in front of the Headmaster. Once he'd finished choking, Ron started to tell the girl off, and Ginny had to jump in and defuse Ron before he said something that couldn't be taken back.

Harry, meanwhile, pulled Hermione aside and forcefully suggested that perhaps that particular joke had run its course. A subdued Hermione confessed that she wasn't sure why she kept picking at the proverbial scab, and promised to let it drop. Harry watched as she apologized to Ron, and thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, his two friends were getting there.

That had happened yesterday; and now, enjoying this peaceful time with his friends, foot innuendo and all, Harry sighed as he looked at the chess board. Then he did a double take. He was actually beating Ron – two more moves and he'd have checkmate. He'd just straightened up to gloat a bit when disaster struck. Crookshanks, who had been watching the candle light reflecting on the glass chess pieces, suddenly pounced. Batting at his prey, chess pieces went flying, and an unapologetic Ron declared the game a draw.

Pouting, Harry slumped onto the couch near Ginny (who'd decided shoes would be best and was now contemplating cravats) while Ron stood up and stretched. Hermione took pity on her friend, and tried to cheer him up by pointing to the table where Slytherin's journal lay open and waiting. Harry could tell by the gleam in her eye that she'd found something exciting, and he perked up – not only would he get something useful, but Ron would have sit through what he snidely but quietly called Hermione's 'mini lesson'. _Mini _because she doesn't assign essays afterwards. "But I swear, it's only a matter of time," Ron had once muttered.

Unaware of the boys' reactions – Ron's moans of anguish and Harry's answering smirk – she had Harry flip the book to a marked page while she pulled out her notes. Jumping right in, she explained that she'd discovered Slytherin didn't approve of the Killing Curse because of what it did to the caster. "It damaged their soul, which was unacceptable to him. He believed that one's soul, like their blood, needed to be pure for their magic to work at its best."

Harry chuckled at the outraged tone of Hermione's voice, but the information had him thinking. He knew from his own research that Slytherin had tried to find a cure for lycanthrope ... "Wonder if he tried to find a way to mend the soul?"

"It seems likely," his friend replied, "from what I can see, he dabbled in just about everything."

"Really?" Ginny asked, "everything? Even Horcruxes?"

"Well, no, actually," Hermione responded in an apologetic voice; but she caught the look on Harry's face and added, "He doesn't actually mention Horcruxes – at least not in the part I translated – but he does mention the sawol, which is the part of the soul that is broken away when one commits murder. And since he felt the soul needed to be pure, it seems obvious that he would have hated any magic that intentionally kept the soul divided. It wouldn't surprise me in the least to find out he was working on a way to mend the soul."

Ron cut in, "Am I the only one that finds this strange? Here's Slytherin, the black sheep of the Founders … run off for his pure blood obsession, and we find out he hates the Unforgivables, wants to save the werewolves, and doesn't like killing. Remind me again why he's considered such a bad guy, 'cause I'm starting to like him more than Ravenclaw." Seeing the incredulous faces of his friends, he continued, "What?…_'wit beyond measure is better than treasure'_ … what kind of bunk is that?"

Harry and Ginny grinned at each other while Hermione openly laughed. "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure, Ron. It means man should search for knowledge, not gold."

"Right. I'll be sure to mention that to Bill next time I see him," he replied, rolling his eyes when Hermione wasn't looking. "Did you know Ravenclaws don't even have a password, they have to solve some stupid riddle every time they want to enter their common room? Barking mad, if you ask me."

"We know you are, but we still love you," Hermione replied with a gentle pat on his hand, and it was said with such a sweet smile that Ron almost missed the wise crack. Before he could respond, she continued, "And you're forgetting, he wasn't completely against killing. He was perfectly fine with his pet killing Mudbloods. Probably used some twisted logic that if the snake did the actual killing, his soul would remain untouched."

"Or he just didn't equate killing Mudbloods with murder," Ron reasoned, not seeming to realize how that sounded.

While his two best friends started on another of their nearly-world-famous rows, Harry dashed to the kitchen for refreshments. He returned with a tray of cocoa and biscuits, which he shared with his thankful fiancé. The other two hadn't even noticed his brief disappearance.

Harry and Ginny got cozy on the floor and enjoyed their steaming mugs of chocolaty goodness while watching the volley ("I've seen walruses with better table manners" … "I'm not stupid, Hermione. Walruses don't eat at tables."). Ginny was trying to explain to Harry how an argument about the Founders had progressed to table manners, when Harry noticed her mug was empty. Not wanting to miss any more of the action, he summoned Kreacher and asked for refills.

Apparently, that one request – it hardly counted as a command when he'd said _please_ – was enough to finally catch Hermione's attention. Accepting the new mug from his elf, Harry noticed her eyes narrow ever so slightly as Kreacher bowed before leaving.

"You know, Hermione," he commented, his eyes twinkling for some reason, "maybe you should start a bit smaller than House Elf rights. Like … did you know that Leprechauns are classified as beasts? But they speak and reason well enough, so shouldn't they be beings? Poor little guys, forced to act as Quidditch mascots. And I bet they don't get paid for that, either."

Seeing the sudden, calculating look on Hermione's face, Ginny leaned into Harry's arms and whispered, "Seamus is going to kill you for messing with the Irish National Quidditch team."

"Only if she succeeds, Gin."

Before anything further could be said about Leprechauns or Founders or walruses, boisterous voices in the hall signaled the arrival of several Order members, meaning a meeting was about to begin. Rising from his spot on the floor, Harry headed for the kitchen, signaling to his friends to follow. If he had his way – and he was certain he would – they would be attending this meeting with him. Granted, Arthur and Molly hadn't giving their blessing yet, but he felt they would if he presented it in the right light.

It turned out he didn't need to. Arthur showed no surprise in the arrival of his two youngest, simply inclining his head in greeting. Beside him, Molly looked like she very much wanted to object, but Arthur placed a gentle hand on her arm and quietly said, "remember, dear, we talked about this. If you allow Harry to attend, you can't really complain about the rest of our kids, now can you?" After that, Molly kept quiet.

Around the room were many of the usual suspects – Kingsley, Minerva, Hestia, and a large Weasley contingent among them. Snape was also present, living up to his persona by moving a chair so he could sit in the shadowed corner. Standing off by himself, Albus watched as people entered and found seats, sharing greetings and news with those around them. The quiet whispers grew louder until Harry could no longer hear any sounds in the hallway.

Eventually, after checking his watch and the door several times, Albus decided everyone had arrived that was going to arrive, and with a simple "attention, please", the room quieted considerably. He began by welcoming the newest attendees, letting everyone know that he fully supported their participation. Bill Weasley looked his sister over critically before shrugging his shoulders, apparently deciding the inclusion of the underage witch wasn't worth arguing.

"Now, normally, we in the Order are on a first name basis with one another," Albus explained, "but I must ask that those among us still attending to their education continue to show their Professors the respect they are due."

Harry leaned over to a confused Ron and whispered, "he means ya gotta call Snape Professor."

Ignoring Harry, Albus continued. "I thank the rest of you for coming this evening. Edgar sent his apologies, but I had expected Remus and Nymphadora to be in attendance. Perhaps they are engaged in some activity and have lost track of time." Everyone who'd heard Molly's earlier rant about the elopers guessed at the activity with knowing smirks. "We'll try to keep this short tonight. Severus – I believe you had something?"

"Yes, Headmaster," the man responded coldly but respectfully, as only Snape could do, as he glided out from the shadows. He stopped several steps away from the table, loath to get too close to anyone seated there. "The Dark Lord, as you know, is unhappy that his plan to take control of the Ministry failed. In addition, several key followers were forced to abandon their positions to avoid being searched for the Dark Mark." He said this in a bored tone, as if this shouldn't be news to anyone. "Undoubtedly of greater importance to most of you is his continued obsession to have Potter captured alive."

He settled his eyes directly on Harry as he continued, "He plans to force the Draught of Living Death on you, Potter, as soon as you are brought to him to lessen the changes of another escape. But given his track record, I should think that, in his exuberance over your capture, he will abandon that plan. I imagine he will inflict great amounts of pain upon your body, leaving you a quivering pile of flesh and blood on the floor, before he grows bored and administers the potion."

Harry tried to maintain eye contact as Snape spoke in an attempt to show no fear. But by the word 'quivering', he had to turn away. He knew only too well how much pain Voldemort could inflict.

Snape paid no attention to anyone's discomfort as he looked back to Albus. "That is only step one in his plan for Potter. As you are no doubt aware, there is a limited shelf life for a person under the Draught's influence. This apparently is not acceptable to the Dark Lord. For reasons unknown, he is most insistent that Mister Potter not die while in his care. To that end, I have been given the honor of finding a lost potion – one only mentioned briefly in modern texts – that is believed capable of keeping a human body alive indefinitely. Of course, the victim's mind is completely decimated. His reasoning abilities, sense of self … probably even his ability to perform the simplest of tasks would be gone for ever, leaving him with an intellect so low that the simplest mountain troll would seem a genius in comparison. No doubt this little side effect is what rendered it useless for its intended purpose, but that does not appear to concern the Dark Lord."

"Severus," Kingsley interrupted, "show some decorum."

"My apologies," he replied, turning back to Harry. "You need not worry yourself overmuch about the potion, Potter. Your mind will most certainly have already been broken by the Cruciatus." Finished, Snape moved back to his place in the corner.

"Is that all?" demanded Hestia. "Other than wanting a potion for Harry, he doesn't have any other plans?"

"Of course he has other plans, woman," Snape bellowed. "He is a _Dark Lord_. Or did you think _nearly _taking over the Ministry and _almost_ killing Albus were the pinnacle of his life-long dreams?"

"Thank you, Severus," Albus cut in before anyone could respond, "not only for your report, but also for your continued dedication to our cause."

Harry felt this last bit had been added, not for Snape's benefit, but for the others. It was his way of reminding everyone that Snape's night job wasn't all flowers and flobberworms. He missed Snape's response, but decided it probably wasn't important as the man left shortly thereafter.

Next, Kingsley asked about restarting Harry's training, but Albus brushed that topic aside, saying he'd like to hold off for the time being. Kingsley acquiesced, and moved into his own report. He'd adjusted well to his new position, and was working with the Head Auror to make sweeping changes that would insure quicker response time to attacks. Harry glanced at Ron and noticed that his friend, like himself, wasn't much interested in Kingsley's report, which sounded more like a sound-bite for the Daily Prophet.

One thing did catch Harry's ear. Auror Magnum, who had replaced Kingsley in protecting the Muggle Prime Minister, had saved that man's life after his wife had attacked him with a butcher's knife. It was being called a nervous breakdown on the Muggle news shows, but in reality the woman had been put under the Imperious Curse. The Prime Minster's wound hadn't killed him, but the knife had severed his spinal cord, and he would not be returning to work. Kingsley had been asked by Minister Bluestreak to bring his replacement up to speed, and there would be additional protections put into place.

Hermione had also been keenly interested in this report, and before Kingsley was done speaking, she had her hand up in the air, earning a chuckle from Albus. "While I appreciate both your enthusiasm and your etiquette, Miss Granger, we do not sit on ceremony here. You may speak your mind without first seeking permission."

Blushing slightly as she realized what she had done, she pulled her arm down and clasped her hands on her lap. Embarrassed, but not deterred, she asked, "But what about the Royal family?" Several faces, many with red hair, gave her strange looks. "Surely we're protecting them, too? I mean, I'm sure the Queen is safe enough, but what about Prince Charles, or the young Princes – William and Harry?"

Ron turned to his friend and mouthed, "_Harry_?"

Harry tried to ignore Ron, which only caused the other boy to snicker, although he did his best to hide the sound from his mother.

Albus, meanwhile, was addressing Hermione's questions. "I do not think they are in specific danger. You must remember that in Voldemort's mind, the real power is with the Prime Minister, who is after all the only Muggle Government Official formally recognized by the Wizengamot. And I dare say he would not want to give away his muggle upbringing by acknowledging any others."

"I understand your reasoning, Headmaster," she responded, "but not all Death Eaters are Purebloods, no matter what they may claim. Surely some of them are familiar with the Monarchy? The Royal Family is very important in the Muggle world. I can't help but think that at least one Death Eater must know this." She glanced around, and when no one appeared to want to stop her, she continued, "A successful attack against one of its members would have a major impact on the country's morale. I mean, it's one thing for a Prime Minister's wife to go crazy, because you can just elect a new Prime Minister. But the Royal Family? Not so disposable, if you get my meaning."

Albus, Arthur, and Kingsley had a quick discussion on Ministry regulations before agreeing that Shacklebolt would work with the new Prime Minister to insure proper safety measures were in place for the Royals.

The next piece of business involved a report that had been sent to Hagrid from his friend Madame Maxime. Albus was in the middle of explaining about an angry vampire when the harsh sound of wood scraping on wood, immediately followed by a rather loud expletive that had the younger crowd chuckling, interrupted. Harry had just enough time to register that Tonks must have arrived when the door burst open and said girl tumbled into the room. Her eyes darted around until they fell on Albus, and she practically ran to the man. Luckily, he had spread his arms wide in welcome, because as she got close she stumbled and landed in his arms.

Most of the room found it comical, but Harry noticed the frayed and smoking edges of her robes and the long tear up one sleeve, as if it had caught on something, and been jerked free without care for the garment. If nothing else, her bland brownish hair was a dead giveaway that something was wrong.

"Albus … Death Eaters … and—and … the house … and … oh God, _Dad_. You have to come."

Pulling her up so she was standing on her own, Albus clarified, "your home, it's being attacked?"

"Yes … Mum and Dad's. They're there right now. We have to hurry." She spoke quickly, but seemed to pull herself together as she did so.

Albus wasted no time. "I need a few volunteers," he announced, and those sitting closest to him jumped up. Picking up a dirty plate from the table, he asked everyone to grab hold and Harry, Tonks and Bill Weasley made their grab – all with their wands in their other hands. With practiced ease, the plate became a Portkey, but before it could be activated a fourth hand took hold.

"That saving-people-thing of yours must be contagious," Hermione said, by way of explanation. A tugging in his gut stopped Harry from responding.

Staggering slightly as he slammed into the ground in what was the back garden of a simple home, Harry dropped his hold on the plate and immediately spun toward the sounds of angry shouting.

Four attackers stood between him and Tonks' family; a fifth body was crumpled on the ground. Remus was standing near a hedge, slightly behind an overturned table which offered little protection. A dark haired woman stood nearby, hexing one of the attackers with what looked like drops of lightening. A second woman was on her knees on the ground behind them – absurdly looking like she was praying. Harry didn't recognize her either (although he felt as if he should), but with the thick smoke rapidly filling the air, it was hard to identify anyone that far away. If it hadn't been for Remus' distinct voice, he might not have recognized him, either.

A crackling sound and sudden flare of heat drew Harry's attention to the house, where flames were now clawing their way out of several windows and up the outside walls. Another Death Eater, not content to merely let the house burn, was casting spells at the burning structure. "I'll get him – you help Remus," Bill shouted.

By this time – and it had only been seconds since they'd arrived – Albus had already advanced on the Death Eaters, easily stunning one of them from behind. Harry and Hermione began advanced forward slowly, the former intending to cover Albus' back and the latter trying to get to the cornered family.

It was, as the cliché goes, over before it began. Their comrade falling over was the only clue the others needed; seeing that reinforcements had arrived in the form of the only man their Lord avoided (not feared – never _feared, _no one dared make _that _mistake again), they were quick to grab their sleeping chum and run.

Albus might have pursued, but one of the berks sent off a lucky cutting curse, which sent the dark-haired woman to the ground clutching her shoulder, and Albus rushed to her aid.

The four villains – for they'd enervated their friend by now – headed toward a low picket fence, where no doubt the Anti-Apparition spell ended. Harry, Hermione and Remus continued to trade spells with them, leaving both sides with minor injuries, but they made it to their destination nonetheless.

Three disappeared one after the other, the cracking noise of their Disapparation sounding like echoes, but the last fighter took a second to turn back to his original victims. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, just before he too disappeared.

Harry reacted on instinct. The clay flower pot lying not far from the group flew into the path of the green light. When they met it exploded, pottery and soil falling to the ground and into Albus' hair, the leafy green vine trailing down his back like a strangely colored rat's tail. Harry stared at the debris, quite surprised he'd succeeded so thoroughly, and without the shrapnel injuries he'd given his test dummies.

Finally blinking, he started to take a step toward Remus, who was looking at him in awe, when a vivid flash of light practically blinded him. A thunderous sound, much like a train slamming into a concrete wall, enveloped his senses to the point that he barely registered anything else, not even his own body being shoved to the ground by something large and heavy. The sudden, sharp pain shooting through his left arm, however, got his attention just fine.

Hermione was the first to come to his aid, and she magically lifted what had once been part of a bed off her friend's back. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Harry cradled his injured arm as he checked the area. _'First thing first'_ – Lying just out of reach was his most prized possession in the world, and he reached as far as he could and then resorted to wiggling his fingers until the wand rolled into his hand. Feeling better … safer … he took in everything else.

The house had exploded, but it had its revenge by taking the last attacker – the one that had been foolishly cursing the burning structure – down with it. Black robes were barely visible under a pile of bricks from the chimney. The magical explosion had put the main fire out, leaving behind a smoldering skeleton that had once been a happy home. If anyone had been inside … well, they surely weren't coming out now. All around the garden were little patches of burning grass and odd pieces of charred and smoking furnishings. Feathers from a pillow were stuck high in a tree. A pink bra floated in the fish pond.

An animalistic cry pulled his attention to where Tonks stood, clinging to the dark-haired woman he'd spotted earlier. At least, he was pretty sure it was Tonks, but this was a Tonks he'd never seen before. Limp black hair fell to her shoulders and across her long face. Standing there, pressed against each other, he could see that they were related – mother and daughter, no doubt. He could also see why this other woman had seemed familiar. She had the coloring and overall look of her sister Bellatrix, right down to the long dark hair; but there were also obvious differences. The most important being a look of near-hysteria and sorrow that Lestrange could never pull off.

Remus stood just behind the two, his arm lightly touching Tonks in the lower back. "Her husband was inside," Bill explained as he joined Harry and Hermione. He knelt down and gently took Harry's injured arm in his hands to inspect it. "From what I can gather, he was pretty badly hurt in the initial attack, so he'd been left inside while the others drew the attackers out here. The floo wasn't working … classic Death Eater move."

"And that other woman? The one that was on the ground?"

"Well," Bill started, not sure how to say this. "That one's a bit of a surprise. Did you notice the blonde hair?"

'_blonde hair?' _With a bewildered look on his face, Harry looked around. He quickly spotted Albus bent down next to the woman, who was now sitting on a lawn chair, gently rocking herself. "Is that … that isn't … _is it_?"

"Well said, Harry," Hermione laughed from beside him. "And yes, it does appear to be Narcissa Malfoy."

"She's Andromeda's sister, you know," Bill helpfully added. "Tonks' aunt, too, I guess."

Harry didn't have time to respond to that as pain spiked through his sore arm.

"Sorry," Bill offered, "had to see if it was broken, which it is. It'll need to be reset before it can be knitted back together. You want me to try?"

"NO," cried Harry and Hermione simultaneously; Harry pulling the injured arm against his chest protectively.

Bill looked like he was going to question their reaction, but Harry was saved from explaining by arrival of Albus.

"Perhaps you would trust me, Harry?" he asked in a gentle voice, although his eyes were definitely full of mischief. As Harry nodded and allowed him to take a hold of the injured arm, Albus continued, "I'm not nearly as schooled in this as your dear Professor Lockhart was, but I think I can manage."

Harry felt the pain momentarily intensify as Albus ran his hands over the arm, but he held still, for he desperately wanted to avoid a trip to St. Mungo's. Albus circled the arm once with his wand then tapped it in several places, leaving a stinging sensation in each area. Then, with another wave of the wand, Harry felt a strangest thing; a sort of tingly, pins-and-needles feeling radiating from deep inside his arm, giving him the mental image of bones actually being knitted together by tiny knitting needles. Eventually the feeling faded, and looking down he was pleased to see that not only were the bones still there, but they were in fact healed.

Standing, Albus said, "come, we must sort this mess out."

The others followed him over to the grieving family. Narcissa had already moved over to stand by her sister, although they weren't looking at each other or speaking. "I do so apologize for the intrusion," Albus politely began, laying his hand on Andromeda Tonks arm in comfort, "but we need to assess the danger. Can any of you tell me what happened?"

"It's me," the once proud Malfoy began in a shaky voice. "They attacked because of me." Turning to her sister, she cried, "I am so, so sorry. I had no idea …"

"No, Cissy, they may have followed you today, but they were always going to come for me eventually. I did marry a mu—," she chocked off, unable to finish the word.

"A man, Mum. You married a _man_," Tonks supplied, tears running freely down her plain-looking face, "and a damn good one at that!"

Seeing that tempers could easily flare, Albus held up his hand as he would in the Great Hall; and like there, his audience fell silent. "If you would, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Taking a shaky breath, she started. "I … Lucius is dead. He was injured in the attack on the Weasley's, and nobody would help. The Malfoys had fallen out of favor," she explained, oddly without the venom Harry would have expected, "they claimed they didn't think they should do anything to help him."

It was a bit strange, Harry thought, to hear about the attack at Bill's marriage celebration discussed from the other perspective. A slight tick on Bill's face told him that 'strange' wasn't the word Bill would use. Harry remembered seeing Lucius Malfoy just before he'd Apparated to safety that day. The man had already been bleeding from a blast-wound in his leg, and Diggle's final act had been to sever one of the man's arms. It was easy to imagine the once-proud aristocrat bleeding to death while his cohorts debated if helping him would please or anger their master.

"I want you to know," Narcissa said in a stronger voice as she turned to Bill, "that I regret … so much. This isn't how I pictured things turning out. I just wanted … I didn't think … was it really so bad to be proud of our blood? Of our heritage? How did it go from that to this?"

As no one had an answer, no one interrupted. "I knew, even before Lucius was killed, that I had to leave … had to get away from _him._ I watched him torture my sister, and I assure you, there is none more loyal to him than Bella. But that didn't save her from his wrath when his plans were ripped to shreds – again – by a bunch of school children. I fear he took what little sanity she had left." She laughed, but it was a sad sound, not at all pleasant to hear.

"Did you know that he has commandeered my house as his? He's taken my son, my house, my husband … I fear what he will take next. This morning, I just decided … it's time. I went to my room and packed what few things I thought wouldn't be noticed. Only," she paused, looking toward her sister, who was now leaning on Remus, "only, I knew I needed help. Obviously, all of my so-called friends are loyal to the Dark Lord. I could not go to them. But _you_, Andi, I knew you could help. You're on Dumbledore's side – everyone knows that – and you could get him" (her eyes shifted ever so briefly to said man) "to help me escape."

She looked close to breaking down, and as her body swayed, Harry instinctively reached out and steadied her by putting one arm behind her back, the other gripping her arm. She gave him a tiny smile before turning back to her sister. "I am so sorry, dear sister, to have brought this on you. I realized too late, what you knew all along. It isn't about the blood. It's about the person. I think Bella noticed my new attitude, and figured out I wanted to leave … she kept watching me. As I was leaving my rooms this morning, we had words. She must have guessed I was coming here, or maybe even followed me. She had to have been the one to order the attack. I picked today specifically because He Who Must Not Be Named was not around – it couldn't have been his orders."

"You believe Bellatrix orchestrated today's attack?" Albus questioned. "She has that much authority?"

"I don't know if I'd call it authority, exactly," she replied. "But most of those men are afraid of her, more so now than ever. Her spells – they don't often work right. She's become quite vicious. If she told them to jump, they would do so, just to avoid pissing her off." Another harsh laugh. "Her Cruciatus curse may not be what it was, but she's found an old castration curse that works just fine."

She finished speaking, and the group stood in silence for a moment. It was Hermione who spoke first. "What happens now, Professor," she asked Albus. "Do you think they will come back?"

"I think," he explained, "that we are safe for the moment. However, when the Dark Lord learns of what transpired today, he will send another team. And this time, they will be out for blood." He turned to look Narcissa in the eye. "He will want you dead for your betrayal, and he will want Andromeda dead for no other reason than it being her you ran to."

"_OH Andi_," the blonde cried, reaching out and grabbing her sister, "I am sorry, so sorry. For everything." She'd said these words before, but to everyone's ears, this time they rang true.

Harry had let go of the woman as she threw herself at her sister, but luckily Remus was still standing behind Mrs. Tonks, and he kept the two from falling over. After giving the women a moment, Albus again took command.

"Do you need me to find you a place to go?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. It wasn't lost on Harry that Narcissa might have been a nasty person, but she was no Death Eater. By her own admission, she didn't believe in the pure blood rhetoric anymore. And she wanted to get away from Voldemort – _'she's making a better choice'_ – and Albus would never deny someone help in that.

Narcissa stayed in her sister's arms, but turned her body toward Albus. "I own a small chalet in the Swiss Alps. It belonged to my mother-in-law – she inherited it through her family, and she gifted it to me when Abraxas died. She called it her own private haven. It's never been a part of the Malfoy fortune; she kept it well hidden, and so have I. I just need to get to Dunkerque. I can get myself the rest of the way from there." She turned her head back to Andromeda. "Come with me, Andi. You won't be safe here. I can't make it up to you … I wouldn't even know how to begin … but I can keep you safe. I know he won't find us there."

Andromeda shook her head sadly, looking over at the burned-out ruins of her home, where her husband's remains waited to be found. She opened her mouth, no doubt to decline the offer, when her daughter cut her off.

"You should do it, Mum," Tonks said, her voice oddly calm. "If what she says is right, he won't find you. And really, we plan to give him enough to deal with here that he won't have the time or energy to expend looking for the-the useless widow of a dead follower and her even more useless blood-traitor of a sister." She cracked a small smile as the others laughed nervously at the joke. "Please Mum," she begged, her voice finally cracking and betraying her emotions, "I need you to be safe. I don't think I can handle losing you, too. I can't keep up the fight if I need to worry about you all the time. And Albus is right, if you are here, he will come for you. You-Know-Who holds one hell of a grudge."

Harry snorted. "You're telling me?" He looked up when he realized he'd said that out loud. Looking at the new widow, he said, "Sorry. But your daughter's right. Once he decides to go after you, he never gives up. And he _will _come after you, just to hurt your sister. He enjoys that sort of thing. You should leave now, before he gets you into his sights."

"And you?" she shot back. "Are you planning on running?"

"Well, I'm sorta a special case, I guess you could say. Every time he comes after me, we fight, and I get just a little bit better, and he gets a little bit sloppier. One of these times, my little bit better is going to be beat his little bit sloppier."

"That, young man, sounds suspiciously like something Sirius would have come up with," Andromeda said, the frown lessening on her face. "He didn't have any sense either."

Harry was surprised by the joke, but then again, shock did strange things to people.

Tonks pleaded with her mother a bit longer, with Remus and Albus giving their endorsements to the plan, and in no time Andromeda was convinced to leave with her sister. It probably wasn't the family reunion either had ever envisioned, but both women had lost their husbands and their homes – and one even her child. Their grief gave them something in common; which was more than they'd had in a long time.

"Very well," Albus announced, once again commanding the group's attention. "Our first stop shall be Headquarters, so we can arrange proper transportation and allowance. We can't send two women traipsing around Europe with little more than the clothes on their backs, now can we?" Seeing Harry start to speak, he shook his head minutely and continued.

"But before we are off, there is one small piece of business we must attend to. I assume that everyone here agrees that it would be best for Narcissa and Andromeda's whereabouts to be kept secret, yes?" Of course everyone agreed, and Albus clapped his hands in delight. "Excellent, then if I could just have everyone please gather around?"

As the rest moved into a loose circle, Albus pulled Harry aside. He instructed the group – Tonks and Remus, Andromeda and Narcissa, Bill, and Hermione – to hold their left hands together in the middle of the circle. Then he walked around the group, using his wand to inscribe a ring of knee-high flames on the ground. Just before he closed the ring, he pulled Harry inside its border, instructing him to stay inside the flames but not to touch any of the people until told to do so. Albus himself took the space between Narcissa and Bill, perhaps to play peace keeper.

With everyone quietly waiting, he spoke in a clear voice, "I know that Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy are hidden when inside Biehl Chalet in the Swiss Alps, but it is not my secret to tell." When he finished speaking, his hand, which was at the top of the clasped pile, began to glow a golden-red. As the glow pulsed, almost matching the rhythms of the dancing flames surrounding the group, Harry noticed a light pressure at the base of his skull.

Albus had each person in the circle repeat the phrase, and as each did their hand would glow and Harry's head would feel just a bit fuller until it became a full-blown headache. His head was pounding, and if he didn't know any better – and come to think of it, he didn't – he's have sworn that the blood in his head had been replaced by ice water. As he massaged his forehead he vaguely thought he'd felt this way before.

When Bill was done speaking, Harry was told to reach inside the circle and place his right hand on top of the bright ball of light and flesh. Expecting heat from the flame-like glow, he was rudely surprised when it instead felt like plunging his hand into the coldest bucket of ice. He actually had to fight to keep from jerking his hand away, it was so cold. At Albus' prompting, he announced, "Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks are hidden when inside Biehl Chalet in the Swiss Alps. This is my secret."

The glow that surrounded their hands intensified, and heatless flames shot upward, growing brighter and higher until they were above everyone's heads, at which point they curved downward and blended into the circle of fire that still surrounded the group.

Most of those standing inside the circle were forced to close their eyes and look away, but Harry, had a much different reaction. For as the flames had grown, so had the coldness that both swam through his head and engulfed his hand. Freezing energy ran up his arm and across his chest, making the very air in his lungs feel solid.

The shock of the unexpected … the sudden fear that he was freezing to death in the middle of August … the feeling that something was squirming around inside his brain … it was all too much, and he collapsed. The second his hand lost contact with the others, the glowing ring of energy and flames disappeared. Everyone instinctively pulled their hands away, several shaking them as if to bring feeling back into them. Hermione, however, was more concerned with her friends and was moving to Harry's side.

Albus beat her, of course.

"He'll be fine," he assured the girl. "It is quite normal for the Secret Keeper to be overwhelmed with this many involved. And doubly so when it is his first time." As Harry roused, feeling back to normal temperature-wise, albeit covered in sweat, Albus helped him to his feet. He swayed from sudden light-headedness, and Bill and Hermione came over to steady him, and in Hermione's case check him over for herself.

Leaving his boy in capable hands, Albus moved over to the sisters and pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. Handing it to Narcissa he explained, "Please excuse the penmanship."

Taking a final look around the family home turned war zone, the weary group disappeared in couples to make their way back to Headquarters and the anxious family they'd left behind.

**** end chapter ****

**Please read before you complain:** Remember how Flitwick explained that with the Fidelius Charm you could look in the windows {of the building} and not see the people? But Harry couldn't even see Headquarters until he knew the secret? I think that's because it depends on the way the secret is worded. For the Order, it's the location of Headquarters that's the secret, so the house can't be seen unless you know the secret. But in this instance, it's the location of the two sisters that's the secret, so no one will be able to see them once they reach said location. Logically, they can be seen just fine if they leave for any reason.

Does it matter? Probably not; but that's my justification for being able to cast the Fidelius Charm involving a Swiss chalet while standing on English soil – because it was placed on the _people_ and not the _building_.

I actually used Snape's Unbreakable Vow as a starting point for the ritual, mixed with Harry's reaction from when he became the Secret Keeper and that strange reaction the brother wands had in GOF. I hope you found it believable.

If you're curious about the plothole, it was Albus - I didn't have him at Tonks' house during the attack. Made it kinda hard for him to perform the Fidelius Charm when he wasn't there! Oops.

Oh, and that accidental Patronus … if you can make something as evil as a Horcrux by accident, why not a Patronus?


	22. Not Feeling Well

I don't own Harry Potter, aka Perry Thorat, aka Harrison James Potter, aka Evan James, aka James Black, aka Elliot Snape, aka Damien Riddle, aka Harry Diggory, aka Hadrian Lupin. Call him whatever you want, I still don't own him. Or any of the stories those names came out of, either. (And in some cases, that's a good thing.)

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**Chapter 22. Not Feeling Well**

In a quiet little churchyard in the sleepy village of Rock Ridge, a teenaged boy and girl stood with their hippy grandfather at the back of the crowd as the Reverend finished his eulogy. As the boy – a young man really – turned to say something to his grandfather, a flash of sunlight reflected off his glasses. The other mourners couldn't hear what the grandfather responded, but the both children shook their heads as if to disagree. A gentle breeze picked up, making the girl's long hair fly into the air behind her even as the boy's dark bangs fluttered away from his own scared forehead.

Harry was starting to hate funerals. Ted Tonks had just been laid to rest, and the man's own widow had been unable to attend. His daughter should have been celebrating her marriage, not grieving her father. Funerals were sad, and depressing, and too real … and Harry feared he'd have many more to attend before this war ended.

At least he'd been able to pay his respects as himself, being allowed to forgo the Blood Sucker-Upper to cover his scar this time. Since the Tonks family was Muggle and Ted's death had been kept quiet in the Magical community (to help hide Andromeda and Narcissa's absence), Albus had agreed there was little danger.

He just wished Ginny was here with him, but Molly had wanted her family close after what she'd termed "more of her babies putting themselves in danger". He knew by 'babies', she's meant both him and Bill, so he'd given in to her wishes without an argument. At least Hermione had made it.

Trumpets began playing their final tribute, and from where he was standing he could see that Tonks' – er, the new Mrs. Lupin's – body had begun to shake as she leaned on her husband for support. He checked to his side; Hermione was stoically looking forward, silent tears tracking down her face. Putting his arm around her back, he pulled her into a sideways hug, and she leaned her head toward his. Apparently, she wasn't overly fond of funerals either.

It didn't take long after the service had ended for the three to give their condolences and leave. Hermione was headed home to spend a few days with her parents before returning to Grimmauld Place. She'd said something about making a few more happy memories, and Harry knew she was worried that once she left for school she might not see them again.

As soon as Hermione was safely escorted home, Albus and Harry headed back to Sarag's Glen. Appearing on the forgotten street in front of their cottage, Harry took in a deep cleansing breath. It was strange, he thought, how just standing in the quiet glen, looking upon his family home, could make his heart feel lighter.

Albus hadn't hesitated like Harry, he'd gone straight inside to see if their house guest had arrived and probably change into some comfortable robes and slippers. Minerva McGonagall was returning this morning from a trip to Russia with her sister Helena, and she would be staying with the family until it was time to return to the school. Through an open window, Harry could hear Albus' enthusiastic greeting, and smile crept onto his face. Strange as it seemed, he was looking forward to her stay.

It was only a few days later when Harry was awakened by a Dobby so excited he was literally hopping from foot to foot. "I has it ready, Harry Potter Sir! I has everything just like you wanted it. Come! Come! We's must be in place before he wakes up."

What Dobby was referring to was the surprise birthday breakfast they were springing on Albus this morning. It had taken a ridiculous amount of digging – even Aberforth had kept uncharacteristically quiet on the subject – but he had finally found the date. In a moment of either inspiration or insanity, he'd written to the Chocolate Frog Company under the guise of questioning the accuracy of their card. In reply, they sent him a rather snappishly worded letter and copy of their biography on Albus. And on the last page, in print so tiny he had to squint to read it, had been written the date: August 12, 1881.

It struck him as funny (in the funny-odd, not funny-ha-ha sense) how it had turned out to be the day after Ginny's. In the years to come, maybe they would celebrate them together, sort of a family birthday event. But for this – the family's first celebration of Albus' birthday – he'd wanted to keep them separate. They would celebrate Ginny's on the weekend.

Albus finally arrived for breakfast – at the same time as Minerva, of course – and was delighted to find a birthday party just for him. He even congratulated Harry on his excellent detective skills. Minerva was genuinely surprised, but Harry suspected it wasn't the party itself so much as the fact that Harry had found the date. Most likely, the catty old witch had known it all along, but kept him in the dark as a favor to Albus. Either way, she had clapped and sang along with the others as they ate chocolate-pumpkin crepes with whipped topping and dancing sprinkles, complete with sparkling candles.

Unfortunately, the fun had to end when the food was gone, as there was important business to attend to that day. The much-anticipated trial for Theodore Nott and Vincent Crabbe was beginning at 10:30 in Courtroom 4, levels away from where Harry's had been held. He was rather incredulous when finally told the location, quipping, "Makes sense, seeing as attacking innocent children isn't quite as serious a crime as performing magic in front of a Muggle _who already knows it exists_."

Minerva tried to chide the boy for his blasé attitude, but after Harry had described his own kangaroo courtish experience to his professor, she was as indignant as he. Albus – perhaps sensing a good chewing-out for having allowed Harry to suffer such an injustice – wisely chose to leave for the trial before she could turn on him, using the excuse that the Chief Warlock had to arrive early.

Just before 10 o'clock, Harry made his own way to the Ministry. Just outside the courtroom he met up with Bill Weasley, who'd also been involved in defending the platform.

"Hey there, fellow _involved party_," Bill called out in greeting, an obvious reference to the summons they'd both received. Each had been 'invited' to attend the trial in case there were questions. In what Harry considered to be the height of stupidity, no actual witnesses would be called.

Finding a seat next to Bill in the appropriate section, Harry checked out the courtroom while he waited for the trial to begin. The basic layout of the room was familiar, placing the defendants in the middle of the room, all by their lonesome. But where Harry had been treated to a hard wooden chair with shaking chains, these two were seated in finely upholstered chairs with thick, plush seats.

The room itself was much lighter in both color and tone than Courtroom 10. This one seemed almost lavish, if such a word could be applied to a courtroom. The walls were a simple beige, but were adorned with painted murals depicting Lady Justice, blindfold in place and scales in hand, in conversation with various witches and wizards that Harry should probably recognize from history classes. Gilded fixtures and fancy trim work seemed to fill the space between murals.

A nudge to his ribs brought Harry's attention to Crabbe and Nott being brought into the room. As soon as they'd been seated a lanky bald man began a very dry Reading of the Charges, which lasted over thirty minutes and which sounded more like a play-by-play of the attack than a simple list of offenses. Certainly, the charges at Harry's trial had been read in under a minute. The monotonous voice made it easy for Harry's mind to drift, and he soon turned his attention to the defendants.

Center-stage as they were, it was easy to see the two were as different as knuts and sickles. Crabbe looked as frumpy and dim-witted as usual despite the obviously expensive dark green dress robes. The fact that he was chewing a fingernail with the ferocity a dragon gnaws on a goat didn't help. Harry found it unlikely the boy was even listening to the charges.

On the other hand, Nott was doing a remarkable imitation of a puffed-up peacock, dressed as he was in fancy robes of muted purple with gold trim, with his head held high and his chest thrust out. All he was missing was the pale blond hair and pointed chin, and he'd have that smug, superior look down pat. The sadistic glee that came over his face as the scribe read out "maliciously and with disregard to the safety of the individual, did take hostage a young witch…" made Harry want to jump up and punch the snot-rag. He could only hope some of the jury had caught it.

Turning his attention away from his classmates, Harry bitterly noticed another difference between his trial and this one. Where Harry had not been allowed a single friendly face, Crabbe and Nott had an entire section of the gallery full of their family and friends. Sitting in the middle of the front left-hand row were the boys' mothers.

Mrs. Nott, a surprisingly lovely woman with soft blond curls framing her face, kept shooting concerned looks to her son as she dabbed her big, weepy blue eyes with a piece of silk. She was a shapely woman, with soft features and rosy skin. Harry might have otherwise considered her beautiful; but somehow, just knowing she had given birth to Theodore Nott quite ruined the effect. Mrs. Crabbe, on the other hand, had the same general body shape and same coloring of her son. And her husband, come to think of it. Perhaps the two were more closely related than the average Pureblood couple? That would certainly explain a lot.

Hidden among the rest of their families were classmates Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson. The two students, Harry couldn't help but notice, seemed to look anywhere but at the defendants, giving off the air of people that wanted to be anywhere but where they were. Most likely, they had been coerced into attending in some warped show of Pureblood support.

One row above and down a few seats from the teens, Bill pointed out, was none other than Yaxley, one of the Death Eaters who'd survived the Ministry's Dark Mark purge because he wasn't a supervisor. Harry had looked just in time to see Yaxley's hand clasping Mrs. Nott's shoulder in a most friendly manner. "Keep watching," Bill whispered, "he does it from time to time, and it's always followed by Mrs. Nott throwing a shy smile over her shoulder to the man." Sure enough, Harry caught the sequence at least twice.

Noticeably absent from the trial were the defendants' fathers. But then, Mister Crabbe and Mister Nott were escaped convicts, so only the foolish were expecting them to appear.

Once the Reading of the Charges was finished, a squatty wizard with a squeaky voice waddled forward to question Crabbe. Not that it did him much good. Crabbe seemed to have three basic answers. One was "I'm telling you, I'm innocent", which really would've sounded more sincere if he didn't always shout it; usually preceding or following that one was "yeah, I did that, but that doesn't mean I'm guilty." Harry actually laughed at that one; it had been one of Dudley's favorite excuses at primary school. And when neither of those fit, he fell back on a classic he often used in class: "I don't know."

The surprise of the trial came when it was Nott's turn, and instead of answering his first question, he proclaimed he was the innocent victim of a well-placed Imperius Curse cast by none other than Vincent Crabbe. As proof, he demanded that Crabbe's wand be checked; and sure enough, it had cast the Unforgivable.

The room erupted in loud voices; everyone so shocked by the claim that they completely forgot themselves. Everyone except Vincent Crabbe, that is. _That one_ appeared as if the newest charge against him hadn't even registered in his tiny brain. Watching from his seat near the boy's mother, Yaxley had a most satisfied look on his face as Crabbe went back to chewing his finger nails, oblivious to the outcries around him.

Albus called for order, and all speech in the room fell to a hushed whisper. One look at Albus' face revealed that he didn't believe Nott's claim, but there was nothing he could do. Crabbe's wand, like Nott's, had been confiscated immediately following the attack, and theoretically, it had been secured so it couldn't be tampered with. With such damning evidence, Crabbe was quickly found guilty of not only the original charges, but also of using an Unforgivable. He was sentenced to Azkaban.

Unfortunately, that gave Nott had a valid defense and he was released, free to return to Hogwarts in September.

The last thing Harry saw as he and Bill left the room was a jubilant Mrs. Nott embracing her son, Yaxley standing proudly behind them.

In the hall outside the courtroom Harry spotted Quark Quilty, the reporter who'd asked just the right questions so Harry's opinion on who should replace Scrimgeour would make the front page. Nodding in greeting, the man smiled as he walked over. "I'll keep it quick Mister Potter, I know you're in a hurry. Are you pleased with the outcome?"

"Well …," Harry began, wanting to say this just right. "Crabbe's wand cast the Imperius Curse, and coincidentally Nott claims he was acting under that very same curse. I understand that was Lucius Malfoy's favorite defense. Seems to me it's high time the Ministry finds a way to tell with certainty if one really is being controlled by that curse, 'cause I'm here to tell you it can be shaken off. But at least Crabbe was found guilty, and is on a one-way trip to Azkaban. Now there's one less idiot available to join Voldemort's army of mindless minions, and you have to like that."

Quilty thanked him as he rushed off to write up his exclusive. Glad to escape the area, Harry offered a quick good-bye to Bill and made short work of returning home, where he and Minerva dissected the trial. Albus arrived about an hour later and added his two knuts. No one was particularly pleased that Theodore Nott would be returning to Hogwarts, but nothing could be done about it other than to keep a close eye on the boy.

Pushing his worries aside, Harry threw himself into planning for their weekend picnic to celebrate Ginny's birthday. He wanted the day to be perfect, and by the time Ginny arrived on Saturday morning, it seemed his wish had come true. It was a beautiful summer day; the bright sun and gentle wind made for a relaxed atmosphere. Uncle Abe had even made it, making it a true Dumbledore family event.

"I ain't missin' my future niece's birthday," he'd barked out when Albus had commented that he looked at bit under the weather.

As they ate Abe kept the teens in stitches telling more of his favorite (as in, those that embarrassed his brother the most) stories from their youths. Ginny's favorite involved a twenty-something Headmaster, Bernard Bombay – "you don't want to know" Harry whispered at her questioning look – a golf course and a troublesome gopher. Albus spent the better part of an hour trying to find out how Aberforth even knew that story as his brother most certainly had not been involved.

When the last of the cold sandwiches, salads, and fresh fruit had been eaten, Dobby served up the cake and brought out Ginny's gifts. Among gifts of a goblin-made silver brush set, former Montrose Magpie Alasdair Maddock book, Chasing Your Dreams, and homemade socks from Dobby was a true surprise. Abe's gift was a Firebolt identical to Harry's. "So you can keep up with your man, see," he explained with a wink.

Finally, Ginny picked up the first of Harry's two gifts – a lumpy, strangely-shaped package that squished when she squeezed it. Shredding the fancy kneazle-covered paper, she found a goofy looking stuffed hippogriff with a green body, floppy blue wings, scrawny brown legs, and red buttons for eyes. With a laugh she tossed it toward her boyfriend, shouting "fly Buckbeak, fly." Luckily, Harry snagged it out of the air before it landed on what was left of the cake.

"Give me back my Hippogriff," she laughed as she pulled it from his hand set it safely on her lap. "You're safe now," she told it as she stroked it's head. Then, flashing Harry a gorgeous smile, she picked up the other box and ripped it open. Inside was a delicate-looking rolo chain bracelet in sterling silver, which she immediately asked Harry to help her put on.

Off to the side, Uncle Abe was laughing over the teens' antics. He'd been full of his normal fire all day, but it was obvious to everyone how much Abe's health had deteriorated since the beginning of summer. He spent most of the day perched in the same chair, relying on Dobby or Harry to fetch him anything he wanted.

No doubt, his plan had been to keep the others from noticing he could hardly stand unsupported, but he gave himself away when he needed the loo and fell on his way into the house. While the teens rushed to his aid Albus offered to transfigure a fork into a cane, but Abe would have none of it. "Keep your fancy wandery to yourself, you old fraud."

Sensing Abe's discomfort, Harry joked, "you know … I'm practically the perfect height to stand in as a crutch without any wand waving whatsoever."

Abe groaned and grumbled as he accepted the help.

A short time later, as Albus escorted his brother home and Minerva made herself scarce, Harry filled Ginny in on the full extent of the man's illness. She, like Harry, didn't want to believe that the man was dying. It was a strange reminder to them that even during war, life carried on, sometimes reaching its ultimate conclusion.

Before Ginny had to return home, she and Harry managed to escape to the old gatehouse for some much anticipated time together – er, to try out her new broom. It had been a great day – the perfect diversion – and Harry couldn't help but feel disappointed when Minerva escorted Ginny back to Grimmauld Place.

That evening over a game of Gobstones, which Minerva played as if the fate of mankind depended on her winning every game, plans were made for Albus and Harry to spend a final day together before the professors had to return to the school to prepare for the new year. Minerva mistook them to mean that they were going sightseeing, or perhaps getting in some ten-pin bowling, but Harry knew. Albus was planning another day of training, but for what this time, he hadn't a clue.

Their first such session had taught him how to repel, or block, the Unforgivables, and had left him physically exhausted and emotionally drained. But it had also saved both Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin's lives. Their second lesson, an impromptu affair in their back yard, had taught Harry how to send messages via his Patronus. Unbeknownst to Albus, Harry had used the skill that very night, sending Remus the message, "marry her already, Moony". Little had he expected Remus to take the advice to heart and run off to Gretna Green.

That lesson had been followed by Harry's crash course in how to make people do what you want them to without resorting to an Unforgivable, which had been most helpful for his own secret trip to Gretna Green.

Come to think of it, he'd been able to put all three lessons to practical use, which explained his excitement the next morning when Albus asked him to change into acceptable wizarding clothes (in other words, put some robes over his jeans and shirt) and meet him in the back garden. Throwing on the first robe in his closet, he tucked his wand securely into its pocket and sprinted outside.

Albus was waiting patiently on the stone bench when he arrived, and based on the amused look on his face he found Harry's robe choice peculiar - a Hogwarts' robe from at least a year ago, judging by its length.

"Before we leave, I felt that I should explain a few things to you," Albus explained, motioning with his arm for Harry to take a seat, "and on this first point I hope you will bear with me and not judge too harshly."

Needless to say, that got Harry's full attention.

"I wonder, Harry," Albus began after Harry had taken a seat facing him, "if you are familiar with the term plausible deniability?"

"Er … maybe? It has something to do with denying things, ah, plausibly, right?"

Outright laughing, Albus couldn't help but say, "I am so glad you have such a firm grasp on the English language. Plausible deniability, my boy, is when a person can safely and believably deny knowledge of a particular truth because said person is deliberately made unaware of the truth so as to shield that person from any responsibility associated through the knowledge of such truth. Does that clear it up?"

"So …" Harry reasoned aloud, "a person – and I think by person I can assume you mean a young man with a scar on his forehead – is intentionally kept in the dark about something so I – I mean _he_ – can claim ignorance when the dung hits the fire."

"Yes, I suppose that is another way to explain it. I particularly like your dung in the fire imagery; very applicable given the explosive nature of dragon dung."

"Thanks," he grinned back, "but don't think the praise saves you, old man. I can read between the lines enough to understand that you're telling me you're keeping a secret from me, which can't be right, as I quite clearly remember you agreed not to do that anymore."

"And I wouldn't, if there was even the slightest reason you needed to know this information. But Harry," and here he held up his hand to forestall being interrupted, "do recall the reason for plausible deniability."

"To keep me from getting into trouble when the truth comes out? But what trouble?"

"Ah, that is the crux of the matter. Allow me to put this as delicately as possible … it has recently been brought to my attention that you have, inadvertently I am sure, done something wrong this summer ... in a manner of speaking," he mysteriously (and rather unhelpfully, in Harry's opinion) explained. "And it's important to your continued well being that you be able to claim you weren't aware of the, ah … transgression, when it eventually comes to light. And I'm sorry to say, I believe it will come to light at some point in time."

Racking his brain, Harry was at a loss. What had he done this summer … other than practice a few quasi-illegal spells … and use Untraceable magic while underage … and use his fame to get his favored candidate elected Minister … and there was that whole exploring the Chamber of Secrets business after school let out … and stowing away on the Knight Bus - but Ginny'd paid enough for two, so that should be OK ... and yes, he'd discovered a disturbing connection that made him Voldemort's heir … and sure, he and Albus had tricked Bill Weasley into helping them break into the Lestrange vault at Gringotts, but … what could he have possibly done that could get him in trouble?

"I really can't think of anything," he finally said. "I mean, Ginny and I did sneak out and almost elope, but you and Arthur already know about that – and so do I come to think of it – so that can't be what you're talking about. What exactly did I do - and how could it affect my well being?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot say without giving away the game. I know this is asking rather a lot, but can you trust me in this matter and accept that I am keeping this secret for your own good?"

Sighing deeply, for he didn't like this one bit, not one teeny, tiny, iota, he looked deeply into his guardian's eyes. Feeling only love and protection coming from the man, he blew his breath out loudly and capitulated. "Fine … keep your secret … just promise you'll tell when you can."

"I promise; though I suspect when the time comes, you will figure it all out on your own. Now, on to our next piece of business ... fallout from the attack on the Tonks family. I have received word that the sisters Black have arrived safely at their destination. The former Tonks home has been cleared, and I have made arrangements so Andromeda can build a new home on the site after the war. The Death Eater that was killed when the chimney fell on top of him has been identified as Matthew Rosier, a young cousin of Evan Rosier, one of the more widely-feared Death Eaters of Voldemort's first reign. Severus tells me Rosier the Younger was largely disrespected by his peers for his unkempt appearance and lack of personal hygiene."

Harry wisely kept the irony of the comment to himself.

"His captured comrade," Albus continued, "was a known associate of Macnair, and he will very soon be convicted under Minister Bluestreak's anti Dark Mark law. And saving the best for last ... I trust you recall that I had the opportunity to speak with Narcissa Malfoy before she left on her vacation? Well, among other little tidbits, she mentioned a place or two connected to the Lestranges that might be worthy of my attention. I of course took this as a clue as to where the elusive Lestrange fortune might be squirrel away."

At the concerned look on Harry's face, he hastened to add, "just the fortune. I am certain that she has no idea that there is a specific item we seek. You could say her eyes told me so," he added with a chuckle.

Harry took this to mean that Albus had searched her mind, but in a much subtler manner than what Snape had used on him. _'More like how Remus does.'_ "Does this mean you've figured out where the cup is?"

"It means that I have several excellent leads that I hope to search in the very near future, and I am glad you understood this. But it is not my main point. You see, one of the locations just happens to be an empty parcel of land in London that formerly housed a certain orphanage. The land is now completely barren … a dead-end of sorts. Certainly there is no Horcrux there; but the location reminded me of my previous visit. Or more specifically, it reminded me of my discussion with the Matron of the orphanage. She had related the most disturbing tale of a trip to the sea-side, and some children traumatized by their experience in a cave. It took a bit of leg work, but I believe I have found the cave, and it most certainly is hiding _something._"

"A cave?" Harry questioned, immediately making the connection. "That sounds like where the locket was hidden."

"Precisely. And very soon, I intend for us to take a short trip and see if we can't find ourselves another of Voldemort's trinkets."

"And what about Bill Weasley," Harry pressed. "Have you thought any more about bringing him along?"

"Harry … you must understand the importance of keeping the true nature of our task secret. As helpful as I believe William would be, I feel it would be too great a risk were he to discover what we're about."

"But he wouldn't have to know why the locket is important. If we just told him it was Order business, I'm sure he would accept that as answer enough," Harry argued. Merlin knew people always expected _him_ to accept that as an answer.

"And if he were to mention the search to anyone, or if – heaven forbid – his mind were invaded by a Death Eater, and they saw that it was a very specific locket that we were seeking? Do you not think Voldemort would figure out our goal rather quickly?"

"Oh, yeah … that makes sense. I just thought, since he's so good at breaking curses, that, you know … he might be useful."

"You thought he might be useful, or you thought you could learn something watching him in action? Or did you think I had forgotten that you are considering following in his footsteps, career-wise?"

"Er … alright, yeah, I do want to see him in action. I bet he's amazing … he sure was good in the fight at the Burrow. But I also do think he'd be helpful," he added. "He certainly knows more than I do when it comes to detecting trouble-"

"Oh now, don't discount yourself. You detect trouble just fine. You just need to learn how to avoid it." The man had the audacity to smirk – hard though it was to tell under that beard – at his own joke.

"Har har," Harry replied, "if you're done with your jokes, what I was trying to say was that Bill would know better than I how to counter any curse we stumble across. When we went to get the ring and you triggered that freezing curse, it was just my typical luck that I managed to break it."

Albus was silent for a moment, probably remembering the incident. "I see your point, and I certainly agree that he could be most helpful. But is the reward of his help worth the risk if he is compromised? Why don't we agree to each give this more thought, and we will revisit this subject. But now, we have something else to discuss, and funnily enough, it has to do with our trip to the Gaunt home last year."

This had Harry's attention, for he couldn't think of any reason to discuss that place. The ring had already been destroyed, and it was a sure bet Voldemort hadn't told any of the Lestranges about the house. "Alright," he finally replied, "what do we need to discuss?"

And so Albus explained what he needed, and in the end, Harry agreed with his guardian's suggestion. Believing there was no better time than the present, the two stood and Apparated away.

In the mid-morning sunlight on the forgotten path to an abandoned hovel, two men in strange dress-like clothes appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Fortunately for them, the only witness to this odd occurrence was a scruffy brown rabbit, and it lost interest rather quickly and went back to munching a dandelion. Albus paid no attention to the critter, but Harry watched the animal with a smile on his face until the other's low whistling garnered his notice.

Once he had the youth's attention, Albus led the way to the dilapidated house. He pushed the front door wide open, and motioned for Harry to enter first.

Taking a few tentative steps, he stopped so Albus could enter behind him.

"This is our first stop of the day. Here, you have already felt some of the magic that Tom used in this house. You will recall both the cursed candle that we encountered as well as the cabinet that housed the ring. If I remember correctly, you felt particularly strong emotions emanating from the cabinet. Our goal is to re-familiarize you with that feeling - that sensation of someone else's magic. I am going to blindfold you, and I want you to reach out with your magic to find the ring's former hiding place." Seeing the hesitant look on Harry's face, he added, "I will of course be right beside you, and will step in should you be about to blunder into trouble."

Harry nodded, indicating both his understanding and his readiness, and in no time he was blindfolded and slowly stumbling his way further into the house. As promised, Albus was following behind him, close enough to stop him from making a deadly mistake, but far enough away so as to not interfere in Harry's quest.

It felt to Harry that it took an hour, but had actually been less than twenty minutes, when he suddenly stopped moving. Extending his arm straight out, he wiggled his fingers as if he was clawing at an invisible object. Unknown to him – for he truly couldn't see – he had stopped less than two inches from the edge of the kitchen table, and his hand was extended so it was practically over the deadly candle.

"There's something really nasty _right here_, and he was quite pleased with himself for putting it here." He paused, bending forward as reached closer to the candle, his fingertips hovering just above the wick. "I can't put it into words … I just _know_. Like, when you see a man watching you, and you just know that he means you harm. Only I don't see the threat, I feel it."

"An excellent analogy," Albus praised. "Were you to remove the blindfold right now, you would find yourself all but touching the cursed candle. Now, what else can you find?"

More confident in himself, it only took Harry about ten minutes to find the cabinet, and once there, he thought he could feel the cold of the freezing curse, which he insisted was coming from the handle on the door. Albus once again praised Harry for the fine job he'd done, but before he could suggest Harry remove the blindfold, the boy was moving again. Curious, he followed.

Harry had moved slowly toward the front corner of the room, by the far side of the kitchen table. A broken wooden chair had been pushed into the corner, facing the room. As Albus watched, wand in hand, Harry hovered above the chair before reaching out and tentatively touching its high wooden back. For close to two minutes, the house was silent as Albus watched Harry touching the chair, on guard with wand raised for the slightest sign of trouble.

Finally Harry dropped his hand and turned around, pulling off the blindfold as he did so. "I'm not sure what I feel here, but something bad happened. It's not a spell, exactly. It's more like I'm feeling what Riddle felt again, and it's … nasty. He hurt someone in that chair, I think, because he was very happy with himself. He was enjoying whatever he was doing, and he … well, I think he felt justified, or maybe vindicated? Something like that." Seeing no surprise whatsoever on Albus' face, he had to ask, "Do you know what it was?"

"I believe you are sensing when he attacked his uncle Morfin; ah, but then, we never did get around to watching those memories together, did we? You see, one of the memories I've collected was from Morfin Gaunt, Tom's mentally and morally challenged uncle, who was sent to Azkaban for confessing to the murders of the Muggle Riddle family."

"But – Voldemort killed the Riddle family. He told me so himself."

"Yes, he most certainly did. But even in his youth, Tom Riddle knew how to slither away. He used some sort of modified memory charm to convince his own uncle that the man had not only killed an entire Muggle family, but he caused Morfin to become aggressive at the mere mention of the name Riddle. A terribly complex spell; but then, I have never doubted Tom Riddle's abilities. It's his morality, or rather lack thereof, that bothers me so."

"And his insanity … and his bigotry … and his pasty-arse skin and glowing red eyes … and his –"

"I get the picture, Harry. He bothers you. But really," and he turned to the younger man, his eyes dancing merrily, "don't you think you could use a bit more sun yourself?"

Leaving the depressing hut for the warm sunshine outside, Albus stopped behind an overgrown flowering shrub which concealed their existence nicely. "Sensing the magic here was easy for you because you have such intimate knowledge of Voldemort and his magic. But at our next stop, you will have no such advantage. In fact, I believe you've only visited the location once, and have had very little contact with its owner. If you would please, concentrate on Ollivander's wand shop in Diagon Alley. I will see you inside." And with a wink, the man disappeared.

It took mere seconds for Harry to catch up with him, and when he did so he took a look around the main room of the abandoned shop. Gone were the rows of boxes that had filled the shop on his previous visit. The dusty, narrow room was dimly lit; the boards over the windows and door only allowing random streams of sunlight into the room. Harry wandered around, studying the scorch marks on the shelves and behind the counter area.

When Albus decided he'd investigated enough, he cleared his throat to get Harry's attention. "As I've already explained, you had an advantage when we were at the cottage. Consider that a warm-up for the real thing. Here, you will not be sensing an individual, as you did there. Instead, I want you to feel the Dark Magic that was used the night Mister Ollivander was taken. It will have left traces of itself, you need only look hard enough to find them."

It wasn't hard to tell that Harry wasn't completely convinced, and Albus hurried to add, "this is a delicate skill … one many of your contemporaries will never and could never master. But I have great faith in both you and your abilities. After all, Harry Potter, Gryffindor extraordinaire, would never accept that something was out of his reach; and Lord Voldemort's equal would consider this child's play."

The little pep talk did its job, for Harry unconsciously straightened up as he moved closer to Albus. "But how do I do it? I won't be feeling actual emotions, will I?"

"In some instances, yes. It is different with different types of magic. If you were searching for transfiguration, for example, you might run your hand over objects and physically feel something that to the naked eye does not appear to be there. Similarly, a potion can be differentiated from a harmless glass of water by touch. But for spells that affect a person – be it a simple Cheering Charm or the Cruciatus – there is as you know an underlying emotion that is used in casting the spell. It is that emotion that is detectable. This is why it is much easier to detect Dark or highly unusual magic than it is everyday magic. It would be nearly impossible, for example, to feel the residue of a 'Lumos' spell. It happens too frequently, there is usually little if any emotion attached to it, and the magic expelled is relatively minor and so would fade faster."

"I get it, I think. The more emotion you have to put into it … the bigger its effects … the longer it lingers, and," he excitedly finished, "the easier it is to detect."

"Precisely," Albus exclaimed, pleased that Harry had caught on so fast. "What I want you to do is simply wander around, and see if you can feel the attack. Take your time … for as a wise man once said, neither learning nor a perfect soufflé can be rushed. Oh, but not too long, Harry. We do have one more lesson."

Harry meandered aimlessly around the deserted shop for several minutes before stopping near a front window. _'not working, now what?'_ He stood for a few minutes, trying to come up with a strategy, and just as a flash of light came in from the street out front, inspiration struck. Taking a calming breath, Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his hands. As he started to move, he cleared his mind of all thoughts except one: _what doesn't feel right?_

In no time, he found himself drawn to one spot, and as he stood in that place he could have sworn he felt the curse for real. He snapped his eyes open even as the chill ran down his spine. "The Cruciatus was used here. I mean, I think this is where it must have hit him, because I can feel it … the pain and hatred … and maybe a bit of surprise. Like maybe someone – I'm not sure if was the Death Eater or Ollivander himself, but one of them was surprised by the force of the curse. It's quite sickening, actually."

Desperate to be free from the phantom curse and foreign emotions, Harry took a hasty step forward. The feeling stopped instantly, leaving him almost dizzy from the abrupt change.

He got back to his search, moving aimlessly around the show room. A few paces later, Harry again stood in place, this time reaching out to touch a burned and splintered area on the counter. He ran his fingers along the wood, careful to avoid splinters, several times before turning to Albus. "Something hit this spot … well, _obviously_, but … I don't think it was a normal Reductor Curse, or anything like that. I almost want to say it was the Killing Curse, but that can't be right, can it? I mean, they wanted him alive, so they wouldn't have used that one. But something like it, maybe? Whatever it was, there was definitely a lot of anger behind it."

Albus nodded his agreement, and Harry continued his search, but wasn't having any further luck. He'd even stopped and run his hand over some of the other scorch marks, and picked up the pieces of a shattered table, but still, he sensed nothing. At least, not until he'd turned his body in frustration and slumped against an empty shelve. The second his back made contact with the wood, he felt the sensation of a sharp object pressing into him. He jumped away from the shelf and turned, only to find empty space between the wooden slats.

"What is it, Harry? Did you find something?"

"I don't know, Seba. When I leaned back, it felt like there was something on this shelf pressing into my back."

Curious, Albus moved over and examined the area. A small smile appeared on his face as he reached out with his hand and grasped at nothing. Or what appeared to be nothing. But when he pulled his hand back, a familiar rectangular box was held tightly in it. He opened the lid to find a beautifully polished wand made from a deep reddish wood.

"It would seem they did not get all the wands after all," he mused aloud. "I wonder how many he managed to hide from the Death Eaters before he was captured."

"Is that why he was taken, do you think?" Harry asked, but he didn't wait for an answer before continuing, "Do you think he's still alive?"

"Certainly it would be beneficial for Voldemort to have an unlimited supply of wands, but I suspect that was only secondary to the real purpose behind his capture. Surely you've figured this out for yourself?"

Nodding, Harry replied, "Yeah, I have. Voldemort wants to know how to make his wand work against mine … either that, or he wants a new wand, and he'd be just conceited enough to want one custom made."

"A bit of both, I should think," Albus concurred. "But you must take heart, for such purpose gives hope that our friend is still alive out there; a captive certainly, but alive nonetheless."

Wanting to bring an end to the depressing discussion, Harry moved away from Albus and continued his wanderings while Albus managed to pull several other wand boxes from thin air. Growing bored – he'd felt nothing since finding that first box, and that was by accident – he moved into what he thought of as the _trying out_ area. He'd only taken a few steps into the area when he was suddenly suffused with a great feeling of joy and belonging. His wand, still tucked into its pocket, seemed to jump excitedly, and red and gold sparks shot out of his robe, burning a small hole in the fabric and nearly catching his robe on fire in the process. Harry ignored his smoking robe as he stilled, sure that he was hearing phoenix song.

It was Albus harshly slapping at his leg that brought him out of his daze, and he looked down to find his right side smoldering. In a panic, he reached into the pocket and withdrew his wand, which he was pleased to find unharmed. He ran his left hand along its length once, confirming what he had seen.

With permission, Albus took the wand into his hands and examined it himself. "Most curious," he said, unknowingly repeating the words of the eccentric wand maker. "I must say that in all my years, I have never seen a wand act as if of its own free will. It simply should not be possible." Handing the wand back to Harry, he added, "Once again, you amaze me."

"Yup, that's me. _The Amazing Harry and his Possessed Wand_. Next show starts in half an hour."

Shaking his head at the lame joke, Albus tried one of his own and suggested that they make like a tree, and get out of there.

"And leave, Seba … it's make like a tree and leave. Get it? Leave … leaves … leaf?"

"Ah. _'_Make like a tree and leave.' Yes, much wittier that way." Laughing at his own joke, he turned on the spot and Disapparated, leaving Harry to make his way home by himself.

Back safe and sound at their cottage, Harry found Albus in the study area of the great room. He was standing serenely in front of his desk, leaning casually against it, which instantly put Harry on his guard. Held in the old man's hand was a thin square box. Albus motioned Harry closer, explaining as he did so.

"What I am holding in my hand is a special assortment of fine chocolates compiled from our good friends at Weasleys Wizard Wheezes." He removed the lid to reveal twelve square chocolate candies, identical in looks. "Mmm, they smell wonderful. Inside this box is a medley of delights. Six of these candies are Canary Cream-filled chocolates – which you are not supposed to eat. Two are perfectly normal caramels; another two are your lovely fiancée's new favorite, Puking Pastilles incorporated into the chocolate. Unfortunately there doesn't seem to be any antidote included. The last two are the newest invention of Misters Fred and George. They call them Skip to the Loo Specials. Care to guess what they cause?"

"No thanks," Harry was quick to respond.

"Well, I'm sure that wonderful imagination of yours can figure it out. Now then," he continued, thrusting the box into Harry's hands, "this last lesson is remarkably easy. Using your fledgling talent in feeling magic, I want you to choose one candy and eat it."

"Pick one … _of these?_ … and eat it." Harry's face went pale and tiny beads of sweat began to form on his back as he realized the implications.

"Exactly. I'm relieved you caught on so fast." Albus pushed away from the desk and patted Harry on the arm reassuringly. He started to walk away, but then turned back and reached a hand over the box. It hovered for just a moment, before plunging down and snatching the second candy in on the top row. Taking a small bite from the corner, he closed his eyes. "Mmm, I do love a good caramel," he finally said as he walked away.

Harry was late coming to dinner that night, and he had to jump up several times during the meal to dash to the restroom. At Minerva's concerned look, Albus explained, "I'm afraid he doesn't feel as well as I had thought."

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Skip to my Loo Specials are going to be part of the Skiving Snackbox: Ministry Employee Edition. Rock Ridge takes its name from a little town in the Old West that needed a new sheriff, and I'm sure I've heard that story about the golf course and the gopher before.

I paraphrased my definition of 'plausible deniability' from urbandictionary dot com; and didn't that sound just like an Albus explanation? Believe it or not, I made it shorter.


	23. The Fantastic Four versus Zombie Island

Warning – claiming to own Harry Potter can be dangerous to your wallet. So remember; friends don't let friends claim they own Harry Potter.

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**Chapter 23. **** The Fantastic Four versus Zombie Island**

=parseltongue=

Harry was feeling well enough the next morning for the move back to the castle; and while Albus, Minerva, and the rest of the staff jumped into preparing for the upcoming term, Harry jumped into lounging on the couch and summoning food from the table. He'd decided to treat the last two weeks before school started as his own mini-vacation, and Dobby was only too happy to indulge him. The Astronomy Tower, for example, made a great place to catch a few rays while sipping on freshly squeezed lemonade, especially with the sand Dobby sprinkled on the floor.

Of course, it wasn't all laid-back laziness. He'd spent one morning convincing Sir Cadogan that the Lady of the Lounge – the prudish Victorian portrait that lived in his and Ginny's private room – was hopelessly in love with him, but too shy to say anything, causing the brash knight to vow to woo the fair lady. There were also the harmless pranks he kept springing on Filch, who of course had no idea Harry was in the castle, and therefore had no idea why the chains hanging in his office began reaching for him when he sat at this desk, or why his filing cabinet had taken to barking like a Doberman Pincher every time Mrs. Norris entered the cluttered room. Too bad for him Professor Flitwick was too busy to take a look at it.

One afternoon, after a particularly rigorous day of wading in the lake, Harry was ambushed by none other than Minerva McGonagall. After reminding him of his promise to help with the summer mail, she pointed out that sending the letters was only half of the work. In no time, he found himself seated on one of the softest chairs his rump had ever felt, sorting responses from the incoming Sixth Years by classes chosen, and helping make sure all incoming First Years had responded, even if it was to decline the offer.

There were also plenty of letters exchanged with his friends and late-night talks with Ginny via the enchanted mirrors. They would talk for hours, and had stayed up so late they had fallen asleep without breaking the connection more than once. The first time it had happened, Harry watched Ginny sleeping for several minutes before gently calling her name to wake her. But the second time, he hadn't noticed the connection was still there, and had left to take his shower, leaving the mirror forgotten on his bed.

He returned from his shower with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, holding it in place with his right hand. He carelessly let the towel fall to the floor as he reached for the clothes he'd laid out. A startled gasp caught his attention, and his eyes flew around to find its source. There, in the mirror, was the extremely bright red face of his fiancée.

Mentally, he was mortified. What if she thought he'd done it on purpose? What if she thought he was some sort of pervert? But physically … well, certain body parts have a mind of their own, and before he could even think to pick up the towel, that part was showing its excitement at being seen.

By the time his mind had caught up to the rest of his body, Ginny's face – while still red – was now looking decidedly predatory. With a smirk of his own, Harry left the towel right where it was and in the most normal voice he could manage, he asked Ginny how she'd slept.

Her answer had contained enough double-talk that Harry wondered if he'd fallen through the mirror. Forgoing both the towel and the clothes, he settled onto the bed as he listened to Ginny talk. He stayed there for a good hour, and when he'd finally closed the connection, he'd needed another shower.

Not that all their talks ended so dramatically. Most were full of perfectly ordinary teenage things, although by definition that included mushy declarations of who loved who more. It was during one of these conversations that Ginny had jokingly called Harry "Mister Dumbledore", and he'd exclaimed "watch it, Potter". She had decided she liked the sound of that, and so 'Potter' had become his new pet name for her.

Harry had vetoed 'Dumbledore' for himself, saying it was too long and too confusing, so she had chosen 'Bwil'. It hadn't made much sense until she'd explained it – Boy Who Lived … BWL …bwil. But Harry flat-out refused that one, saying it sounded like one of Hermione's causes and made him sound like a pansy besides. She insisted she needed a pet name for him, as he now had two for her (he still occasionally called her Gin, a name anyone else was hexed for using). She tried Snuggles ("sounds like a stuffed animal"), 'Bo-Bo' ("isn't that a trained monkey?"), and Gryff ("no … just, no"). Refusing to give up until she had something special to call him, he finally approved the classic Sweetie. Truth be told, he wasn't overly fond of it, but it still beat Snuggles.

Another highlight during his mini-vacation was the trip into Hogsmeade with Remus and Tonks to get his school supplies. Of course, as he walked through the village with the Auror and her husband, Harry made it clear to them he was shopping _with them_, not being taken _by them_.

"That can't be right," Remus had countered, "as neither Dora nor I are shopping."

Instead of pursuing an argument he was sure to lose, Harry tactfully changed the subject by saying he didn't feel right calling her Tonks any more, now that it wasn't her name. "I mean, Nimmie sounds so flighty, and Dora – that's Remus' name for you. But Mrs. Lupin … ain't gonna happen. So what should I call you?"

It wasn't Tonks, but rather her husband who answered. "I think Professor Lupin will suffice, Harry. After all, it was good enough for me."

"Professor?" he asked, turning to her in surprise. "As in, you're going to be our new Defense teacher? That's brill. What made you decide to give up being an Auror and teach?"

"Oh, well, not as much of a choice as you might think," Tonks – now Professor Lupin – replied. "It's pretty much standard procedure to ground an Auror as soon as pregnancy is confirmed. And no way was I going to spend the next nine months sitting at a desk. I mean, have you seen how cramped those cubicles are? So I asked Kingsley for a leave of absence. By lucky coincidence, Albus just happened to have contacted him that very morning for suggestions for the position."

"Wow … I mean, congratulations. I'm going to get a cousin, of sorts." They all laughed as Tonks recounted (with helpful input by her husband) how Remus had taken her to dinner and she'd vomited spectacularly all over the dessert cart. They'd rushed straight home and taken a test.

"That was really the only sign," Remus confirmed. "I mean, it's not like we'd have noticed if it had affected her sense of balance." He had to duck to avoid getting smacked upside the head.

"And let me warn you right now," Remus continued, once he'd straightened back up, "I'd best not hear that you're giving her any trouble. If I find out you're using that map of yours to go sneaking around—"

"Can't," Harry cut in, "Albus has it. Says it will help him watch for undesirables sneaking into the castle."

Remus turned to him with appraising eyes. "Keep an eye out for them, or keep an eye on you?"

"Equal amounts of both, I suppose," Harry conceded. "For all his teasing, I know he really worries about something happening to me." Turning a calculating eye of his own, he added, "I just realized, with your lovely wife teaching, at least I won't have to worry about being attacked this year. It'll be nice to have one attack-free year." Seeing the questioning look on the former Professor Lupin's face, he added, "Sorry Remus, but Moony did come after me that night. Even Fortescue attacked me last year."

"I have no excuse, Harry, but Florean thought you were one of the invaders," Remus explained.

"Yeah, but that doesn't change the fact that he attacked me. So, what will you be doing while the old lady's teaching, Remus?" This time, it was Harry that dodged.

"Ah, well, I was recently offered a position right here in Hogsmeade. It's a tough job, working with the worst sorts of people, and the hours will be ghastly, but at least the pay is horrible."

"Eugh, sounds terrible. Why would you take such a job?"

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Harry," Remus said in a low voice. "Werewolves can't be choosey."

"_Everyone_ can be choosey, Remus. Life is all about the choices. So … what is this horrible job? Gutting animals for the apothecary? Or … it's not test subject for the twins, is it? Cause I have to warn you, some of their newer stuff is down right nasty."

"No," Remus laughed, "nothing so dangerous, I assure you. Although … I do fear animals are in my future. I'm the new barkeep at the Hogs Head."

"You're … Abe's place? What are you doing working there?"

Remus stopped moving and turned to face Harry, his entire being growing serious. "Albus suggested it, Harry, as a favor it him. You know about Aberforth's illness, yes?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"He's growing weaker, Harry, and the bar is getting to be too much for him to handle. But he refuses to leave it. He'd been right tricky in hiding his condition – uses an enchanted stool to move about behind the bar and the like. And I'm sure you can imagine that his normally rude demeanor tends to deter his patrons from expecting much in the way of service. But recently, Albus has become concerned that even with magic and low expectations, it has become too much. It took quite a fair bit of arguing, I'm told, but eventually Albus convinced him to take on some help."

He took a step backward, and gestured to himself. "Enter the unemployed werewolf. I imagine Albus knew that I would want to be close to Dora, and that he could trust me to help his brother without it seeming like charity or pity." He paused, searching Harry's face for something. "You don't mind, do you? I know you've grown rather close to Aberforth."

"No … no, I think it's great. I just wasn't expecting it." Harry seemed to shake himself, pushing the serious thoughts aside as he said, "So you'll be taking care of Brian, too? You know," he continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "that sounds like something from the bible. _The wolf lying down with the goat_," he intoned in strange deep voice. His face grew serious again as he scolded, "and you better not even think about eating him, Remus. I mean it – no moonlight goat chops!"

After all of Harry's supplies has been purchased, the three decided to stop by the pub so Tonks could see where her husband would be working and Harry could check up on his uncle. Hearing the familiar noise from the back room, Harry winked at Tonks as he asked, "hey, you wouldn't happen to know any charms that would make a goat uneatable, would you?"

"I do," Remus cut in, "it's called, let Dora cook it. Nothing on this earth could eat it after that." Tonks acted offended, but the effect was ruined by the vivid pink her hair had turned. As Harry laughed, he was pleased to notice that the exchange had brought a genuine smile to his uncle's face, which the cranky man quickly replaced with a scowl when he noticed Harry watching.

Harry had returned to the castle feeling better about Uncle Abe's situation than he had in a long time. The man would be in capable hands; Remus wouldn't let anything happen to him. He just wondered if Remus would continue Abe's practice of giving Harry free alcohol – somehow, he doubted it.

Inside the castle, August continued to dwindle away, and on the second to last day of the month Albus told Harry is was time. As in, it was time to find and destroy another Horcrux. He had finished his research and was confident they would find a Horcrux in the cave a young Tom Riddle had once used to terrorize his fellow orphans.

They would go the next day, Albus explained as he sent Harry off for a good night's sleep. Harry went without much fuss – he's won a bigger battle, and didn't want to push his luck. Albus had finally acquiesced and Bill Weasley was coming along, which helped put Harry's mind at ease. He was quite familiar with the spells that had protected the ring; how much more potent would the curses at the cave be?

Bill worked the early shift so they could set out after lunch. And so, at 1:15 on the sunny afternoon of August 31st, the three wizards prepared to leave Hogwarts in search of a bit of Voldemort's immortality. Not that Bill understood that; he'd been told that they were stealing back a Hogwart's relic Voldemort had hidden away. The red head probably hadn't believed the story, but he also hadn't questioned it.

As they were preparing to leave, Bill had asked if they wanted to check their supplies before they left, earning him a confused look from Harry and a blank look from Albus. "Surely you're taking supplies … tools and basic healing potions … and I've found Muggle flashlights invaluable when curses keep Lumos from working. But don't tell my dad that last bit, I'd never get them away from him." Seeing the other two looking at each other, he added, "Are you having me on? You weren't going to take supplies? What, you planned on just walking in there and picking up your little trinket, no problem?"

"Well," Harry hedged, "when you put it like that …"

Albus held up his hand, cutting Harry off so he could speak. "What our young friend means, William, is that we had not anticipated such needs. Such expertise is why we decided to include you on this little excursion. Now, why don't you tell me what supplies you would suggest and I will have one of the house elves gather them for us."

Bill opened his mouth to reply, but stopped for a second as a thought came to him. "Actually, an elf might not be a bad idea. A lot of times when we're entering a tomb for the first time, we take a non-human with us. Some curses are species specific, ya know."

"A most excellent idea, William. And I think I know just the house elf to invite."

Harry wasn't surprised that his guardian wanted to invite Dobby, and he was even less surprised that Dobby agreed. The excited little elf chanted 'yes, yes, yes' as he literally jumped into Harry's arms and hugged his neck so tightly he nearly chocked – now that surprised him; although really, it shouldn't have.

And so it was that the four adventurers arrived at a deserted piece of shoreline not far from Southend-on-Sea. Harry was surprised that such a desolate place existed so close to a resort area. But then, it had to be nearby something worth seeing, or else the orphanage wouldn't have chosen the area for their day trip.

The cave itself was located in an area devoid of anything living, unless you counted the sea creatures washed up on shore which were scrambling back to the water. A sliver of an opening was hidden behind an outcropping of stone; it would be easy to overlook even without the strong Revulsion jinx, which Harry was rather proud to have felt for himself.

Harry started toward the cave, only to be stopped by Albus. "Before we enter, boys," he glanced over to Bill to let him know he was included in the reference, "there is one rule I have for you, and I expect you both to agree and adhere to it throughout this endeavor. It is simply this … my word is law. You will both follow my commands, no matter what they are. Do you agree?"

"Let me guess," Harry replied, "if you say run, we should run. If you say duck, we should duck. And if you say … oh, I don't know … leave and save yourselves, we're supposed to what? Run out and leave you behind?" Seeing Albus nodding his agreement, he shouted, "Well, that's not bloody likely, old man!"

Harry's disrespectful tone surprised Bill, but it was Albus who responded. "Language, Harry," he reprimanded.

But Harry wasn't finished, and he cut him off before he could continue. Stepping closer to Albus, he spoke in a softer voice, though still louder than need be. "I think it's already been established that I'm the one with the hero complex. You've got to know that I'm not going to leave you behind, no matter what happens." He met Albus' eyes, "How about this – I'll promise that _if_ it comes down to leave now or die, and _if_ there is _no possible way_ to save you too, then I'll save myself. But only then. And I'm not going to be the one to tell Minerva you made me leave you behind. Bill will have to do that. Deal?"

"Why am I not surprised?" Albus asked; rhetorically, of course. "Very well," he conceded. "We are in this together, and no one gets left behind unless it is the only option. Will you at least allow that I am in charge of this expedition, and that any instructions I give, short of saving yourselves at my expense, will be followed without question?"

"If it makes you feel better to think so, sure," Harry added with a grin.

Disappearing into the opening and traveling down a short passage, Albus tutted while rubbing blood on the stone to reveal the true entrance, and the four entered Voldemort's hidden cavern. Bill was holding a flashlight in his left hand, and he swept it around the area, revealing a rickety looking dock stretching over a stagnant lake which seemed to completely fill the cavern. Whereas the cave as a whole had a ghostly, almost sacred feel to it, the dock area appeared well used. The ground in front of it was worn smooth, all stones and other debris pushed off to the side.

Bill swept his flashlight over the lake's surface, revealing a large rock formation with some kind of structure in the middle of the water. Moving closer to the lake, he and Albus performed some spells which confirmed that summoning and Apparition would not work. Dobby's ears had perked up at the proclamation, but he didn't say anything, for he was still humbled by being invited along for such an important task by such great wizards. The dock was, in Bill's words, a "death trap," and was therefore left untouched.

With Albus in the lead they began searching for clues or a mythical 'X' or even a large blinking sign that spelled out 'Horcrux Hidden Here!'. They found none of these as they followed the edge of the water, having to walk single file for much of the way, until Albus abruptly stopped their procession. "This is the place, I should think," he pronounced. He was absolutely right; with a strange hand gesture that looked like a mime pulling a rope, he made a rickety boat emerge from the murky water.

The two more experienced wizards quickly examined it, and Harry was glad to leave them to it. "Well, we certainly aren't all crossing in that thing," Bill explained. "It's only going to carry one of us at a time." Considering their options, he stooped down and studied the surface of the water. "_Holy crap_ … those aren't fish in there, those are bodies."

"Not just bodies, William," Albus corrected. "I do believe those would be Inferi. I dare say we've stumbled upon Voldemort's favorite hiding place – one that he could still be making use of. I suggest we make extra effort to leave as little proof of today's excursion as possible."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Harry," Bill explained in a soft voice, as he knew what he was saying was upsetting. "People _disappear_. As in, we're pretty sure they've been killed, but the bodies are never found." As he said this, his eyes shifted from the boy to the water, and Harry's eyes followed.

"So … so … they're in there," he asked, motioning to the water with his head. In his mind, he was running down the list of missing persons that was published from time to time in the Daily Prophet. He gazed into the water, involuntarily shuddering as he imagined brain-hungry zombies lurking just beneath the surface gazing back.

It was Albus who replied. "It is a safe guess. This place is both well hidden and well protected. Certainly more so than the other places we have visited. At the same time, Voldemort would need to dispose of his victims in some manner. Add to that the fact that there are most definitely beings of some kind residing within these depths; ones that no doubt are meant to be protectors of a sort. We are led to only one conclusion. He has turned the earthly remains of certain victims into Inferi and placed them here to guard the lake."

"A decidedly resourceful move on his part," he continued. "Oh … purely evil, to be sure, but also calculated and cunning. Not only is he able to create what you like to call mindless minions who will follow his orders without question and without hesitation, but the disappearances increase the public's fear – for remember, fear of the unknown is often greater than fear of the known."

Harry very much looked like he wanted to argue, or maybe get sick, but assuming it was the first, Albus held up his hand to forestall the response. "It makes you ill, doesn't it Harry? And well it should. One of the differences between right and wrong is accepting that something can be physically possible and yet morally reprehensible at the same time. Do you understand?"

"Yeah … it's about choices. _Big surprise_!"

To the side, seemingly forgotten, Bill took in the conversation. Like had happened when he'd met with Albus and someone that claimed to be his brother at Gringotts, he had the impression that there was another layer to the discussion that he was missing. Although knowing that Albus was Harry's faceless guardian helped. But still, there was something. He would ask no questions – he fully understood his place – but when it was all over, and You-Know-Who was gone, he expected some overdue explanations.

But until then, he decided to get the hunt back on track by asking if anyone knew how they could all get to the island. "Certainly not swim," he offered, and Albus agreed.

"No doubt the Inferi will rise up and attack the moment any of us breaks the surface of the water, so I highly suggest we all be extra careful to not do so. No, the boat is the key."

The three wizards considered their options, or rather lack thereof, and finally worked something out. The boat would only carry one adult at a time, but Albus believed (and Bill concurred) that Dobby wouldn't register. And so, Albus and Dobby entered the boat and crossed the lake. Then Albus exited, and Dobby took the boat back to the others. Then Harry rode across with the elf, and finally Bill.

Together now on the tiny island, Albus and Bill stepped forward to examine the large basin that dominated the otherwise bare piece of dirt and rock. Harry and Dobby walked around the edges, searching for anything worth note. They found nothing of consequence: a faded and tattered shirt caught on some rocks, a dead toad, a suspicious glob floating nearby that Harry suspected was an eyeball. He was also sure there were other eyes, just below the surface, watching – but he chose to believe he was just being paranoid.

When he ran out of shoreline to explore he wandered over to the dark stone basin, trying hard not to notice how the moisture on its sides gave the illusion it was bleeding. It was cracked and crumbled in places, and whatever design was etched on its surface was lost in layers of grim and moss. But it wasn't the imposing basin that was holding the others' attention, it was the liquid inside. An iridescent green concoction that appeared to be stuck between a liquid and a gelatin-like solid was swirling around despite there being no wind. A small metal object could barely be made out lying protected under the potion.

"I know this," Bill called out, earning the others' attention. "I don't know what it's called, but I recognize it from one of the older tombs I've worked in. It isn't a poison, exactly … I mean, it's not meant to kill. It's meant to torment you. Make you unable and unwilling to defend yourself. We think the tomb guardians used it to disable invaders so they could be captured and questioned."

"Excellent, William," Albus complimented. "If you could just tell us how to counter it?"

"Oh, er, I don't remember what we used. I do remember it was something common, though. But it helps to know this isn't going to kill us, right?"

"It certainly is reassuring, but perhaps I shall see if I can find an alternative to drinking it." Not waiting, for he certainly didn't expect anyone to argue, Albus pulled his wand and tried several spells on the potion, only to confirm that it couldn't be vanished, transfigured, or charmed. Bill had even tried to plunge his hand in and grab the object, only to have his arm repelled. There was no other choice; it would have to be consumed. By a wizard. _'sexist much?'_

That's when the argument broke out. Albus offered to be the one to drink the potion, asserting that as the one whose life had mostly been lived, he had the least to lose. Harry immediately countered that he was also the most knowledgeable and was therefore the least expendable, while Bill insisted the Order would be lost without his leadership.

Harry, of course, insisted that he be the one to drink, arguing that since he was the youngest and healthiest (causing Albus' eyes to narrow at that little stretching of the truth), he would have the best chance of withstanding the potion.

"Not bloody likely," Bill exclaimed. "There's no way I'm letting you drink that slime and leave me to face Ginny. That girl could scare a banshee with her screeching when she's wound up. Took lessons from Mum, that one did."

"Well, I'm certainly not facing Fleur," Harry countered. "I've seen what happens when Veela get mad."

"Yes, but I've been on the receiving end of Ginny's anger," Bill argued back. "She doesn't take prisoners. But you … well, we already know you can beat Fleur."

"Gentlemen," Albus cut it, "if I may make a simple suggestion. If two of us were to drink the potion, we could cut its effects in half _and_ there would still be one unaffected person to finish the task." He paused and watched as the other two nodded their approval to the plan. "Very well. Shall we vote? All in favor of William and I drinking the potion together raise your hand."

Harry didn't raise his arm but four others were quickly thrust into the air – Dobby had used both his arms and was jumping to get them high enough – and he knew he'd been outmaneuvered again. Albus and Bill stood together at the bowl with Harry and Dobby on either side. As the two older men started drinking the slimy sludge and became lost in worlds only they could see, Harry and Dobby used bribery and even force to get them to finish the entire potion. When the last goblet had been finished, as Albus and Bill begged for water and mercy, Harry scooped up the locket and carelessly stuffed it into his jeans pocket, leaving its long chain dangling out.

With Bill and Albus growing more desperate by the minute, Harry tried every spell he could think to help them, but nothing worked. And that's when he realized that he had no choice – that just as Voldemort had planned, he would have to get water from the lake for them to drink.

He warned Dobby to be ready for trouble, and with empty goblet in hand he bent down to the water's edge, scooping as quickly as he could. He didn't even have a chance to fully stand when the first corpse crawled from the lake, lunging at him with surprising speed. He stumbled backward, losing his balance and landing on his bum. But amazingly, he didn't spill the water. He looked up to see at least five Inferi closing in on him. He didn't dare turn away, but judging by the sounds, there were Inferi coming up on all sides of the island. He half-scooted, half-crawled away, feeling rocks digging into his bottom and legs as he moved.

Harry shifted the goblet into his left hand and went for his wand, but Dobby was faster. The brave little elf moved between Harry and the closest walking skinbags, and with a snap of his fingers the bodies were tumbling back into the water. Unfortunately, there were already others climbing up to take their places.

It wasn't much of a reprieve, but it gave Harry enough time to get over to Albus and Bill and shove a mouthful of water down each of their throats. As the men began to return to themselves Harry was shooting Incendio spells over their shoulders. The spells only stopped the closest of the Inferi; there just wasn't a dry surface for the flames to catch on. Harry was trying to remember if it was possible to conjure wood when he heard a loud squeal behind him. "_Dobby!_"

Turning to help his little friend, he almost dropped his wand in shock. Coming for the elf, his right arm outstretched, a messy stump where his left arm should have been, was a person Harry had never expected to see again. Lucius Malfoy. Or rather, the reanimated dead body of the once-haughty man. Formerly perfect blonde hair hung in a tangled mess around a pale face whose eyes looked vacantly at its former elf.

For all that he had wanted to be free, Dobby had never forgotten his fear of his former master. And it was never more evident than now, as the elf stood transfixed while its former master grabbed him by the arm and began dragging him into the lake. Harry called for help as he lunged forward, losing his wand as he used both hands to grab Dobby's leg. He and Malfoy the Dead began a tug of war with Dobby as the rope.

Concentrating on getting the elf away from the dead guy, Harry heard a noise behind him that he assumed was Albus coming to help. The feel of cold, clammy hands clawing into his upper arms told him otherwise. He lost his hold on Dobby as his body was jerked backwards. The sudden release launched Dobby forward, right into the torso of Dead Malfoy, who in turn let go as he fell over. Dobby bounced off the body and landed on his head on the rocky soil. The rest of his body flopped to the ground and he didn't get up, though thankfully a soft groan confirmed he was still alive.

While Harry was glad the little guy was safe, he had his own problem. He tried to dig his heels into the hard-packed dirt as he wiggled his arms and tried to strike whoever – whatever – had a hold of him. Judging by the number of hands pulling on him, there had to be at least four of them … and now they were attempting to bodily pick him up and haul him into the lake. He felt more hands grabbing at him, ripping his clothes as he squirmed while they hoisted him up, and then … there were sudden flashes of light from all around, caused by streams of fire raining down on them. The Inferi dropped him in their haste to retreat to the safety of their watery home.

Harry landed hard on his side and rolled onto his stomach. He lifted his head to see Albus, standing tall with a fierce look on his face, holding his wand in the air as he directed the ribbons of flame to encircle the foursome. Bill tiredly walked over and held his hand out, pulling Harry back to his feet. He checked himself, confirming none of his cuts were serious, as Bill bent over to retrieve his wand for him. And when the man stood, he not only had the holly wand, but also the broken remains of a large but relatively plain gold locket. Unseen by all, a small scrap of parchment fell from the locket and fluttered into the water, its message melting away.

Watching the chain as it swayed from Bill's fingers, an open locket dangling from it, it's delicate hinge ripped apart in places, Harry could only gape. That couldn't be Slytherin's locket – a Horcrux would never break so easily. He shifted his eyes from the faux Horcrux to Albus, and could tell from the look on his face that he had reached the same conclusion. The real Horcrux was gone … had been stolen, most likely … and could be anywhere. Or nowhere; they had no way to know.

Bill noticed Harry starting at the locket, and when the boy turned to look at Albus, so had he. Judging by their faces, something was definitely wrong. He lifted his hand so that the locket dangled in front of his face and studied the piece. In his work in the tombs, he'd had plenty of practice deciphering the value of a piece by its appearance. And while this piece was clearly made of pure gold, and above average craftsmanship, it was also clear that it was neither old enough nor ornate enough to be a priceless Hogwarts heirloom. In fact, if he had to guess, he would say it was a contemporary piece.

But thinking it was better to be safe than sorry, he stuffed the necklace into his pocket and cleared his throat. The sound brought the others back to themselves and Harry cried "oh Dobby" as he went to the elf's side.

After he had helped the elf to stand, which took a few tries as Dobby kept trying to shake his hand and introduce himself, he looked up to the others. Albus was standing closest, and Harry was shocked to see how weak he seemed. Where mere moments ago the man had radiated power, he now seemed more like a light-bulb flickering just before it burnt out. Past him, Bill looked only slightly better. The potion, it seemed, hadn't been completely negated by the water. _'Of course,'_ Harry thought, _'Bill said they would need a counter-potion.'_

Seeing the concerned look on Harry's face, both men were quick to assure him that they would be fine. "Just a bit weak is all," Albus asserted.

"Great, two tired old guys and a confused house-elf. Looks like I'm in charge now."

Bill took exception to being called old, which considerable lighted the mood.

It took a bit of time getting back across the lake – Dobby kept forgetting that he had to return the boat for the next passenger – but eventually they were all together on the shore. Harry was starting to get concerned, as Albus seemed to be steadily slowing down, and Bill had broken out in a cold sweat. Once again, they moved around the lake in single file, this time with Harry in the lead. By the time they had made it back to the entrance, Albus was resting his hand heavily on Harry's shoulder. Bill stopped, bending slightly to rest his hands on his knees, his breathing heavy.

Harry approached the wall hiding the way out, peering at the stone in wonder. He started to reach down to the cut on his knee, intending to use his own blood to appease the doorway, when he _felt_ something.

"Of course," he said to himself, not realizing he was speaking out loud.

"Of course what?" Bill asked.

With a smile, he turned back and responded, "Voldemort would have a way in and out that didn't require blood. I can get us through no problem." He moved closer to the doorway, held his hand up and commanded, =open for me=. When nothing happened, he added, =the greatest wizard since Slytherin himself=. This was enough to convince the doorway to open.

He turned back again and explained, "You'll all be safe as long as you're with me. We just need to be touching."

Dobby moved close, and with Bill's help, he was lifted onto Harry's back. Then Bill and Albus moved to his sides, and Harry reached out and grasped each by the arm – Bill on his left and Albus on his right. As a human chain, they took small steps up to the doorway. Mostly, it was so they wouldn't have trouble staying together, but Harry couldn't help but think it was also due to the heavy fatigue the others were feeling.

Just as they moved through the stone opening, Harry's foot caught on a protruding rock and he lost his balance. Out of instinct, he thrust his hand out to steady himself, pulling his arm away from Albus in the process.

It happened with the speed of a lightning strike. One second, Albus was standing next to Harry, leaning slightly toward the boy who had just been supporting him, and the next there was a blinding flash of red light and he was being thrown through the doorway and into the hard rock wall outside. Harry watched in horror as the man's limp body crumbled onto the sandy floor of the alcove. He barely kept his wits enough to keep his hold on Bill as he struggled to get to his guardian.

As soon as they were clear of the doorway, he let go and rushed to Albus. He dropped to his knees and reached for the outstretched arm, feeling for a pulse, not even noticing Dobby sliding off his back.

Bill, however, had already seen that Albus was breathing. Knowing that he knew more first aid than Harry did, he gently pulled the boy aside and checked over Albus for himself. A few quick spells assured him nothing major was injured, and another spell attempted to rouse him.

Albus groaned as the spell enveloped him, and blinked his eyes wearily. With a grunt he slowly attempted to sit up, but slumped back to the ground almost instantly. Bill urged him to lie still and breathe slowly before turning to Harry.

"I don't think it's the tumble, I think it's whatever that curse was," he said, the worry evident in his voice. "Do you have any idea what it was, or what it did?"

"N-n-no," Harry stuttered out. "I didn't know that would happen … I just thought the door might try to close him in or something if I let go … I didn't feel … I mean, it felt like … um … it just felt like it wanted to keep us out, ya know? I didn't think …" he broke off, looking down to a barely conscious Albus. "Oh Merlin, what have I done?"

Bill could sense that Harry was rapidly giving in to his panic, and that he needed to do something to stop it. "_HARRY_!" he shouted, and sure enough, the younger man stopped mumbling his apologies and looked at him. "Get a hold of yourself. He needs to get back to Hogwarts … _you_ need to take him to Hogwarts."

Seeing that Harry was shaking his head, he explained, "I'm too weak from that bloody potion, and I think Dobby has a concussion." As he said this last, he gestured toward the elf. Dobby's feet were firmly on the ground, but his body kept swaying side to side, much like a tree sways in a windstorm.

"You need to apparate him to the gates of the school, and then levitate … or carry … or whatever, but you need to get him to the infirmary. Make sure he gets help. Just don't forget to come back for us when he's settled – we'll still need help getting back. Got it?"

"Yeah," he answered back, finally back in control of himself. "Get him to Hogwarts, get him help, and then come back for you two. Got it." He moved closer to Albus, lifting the man into a sitting position and wrapping his arms around him. "I won't mess up again, Bill. I'll be back soon with help."

Bill nodded his understanding, and Harry and Albus blinked out of existence.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes: **Well, that was my take on the Horcrux Cave. I wasn't going to use the cave, but Harry, Albus and Bill conspired against me, refusing to behave at their original destination, so I had to change it. My biggest concern was to make it different enough that you didn't feel like you'd already read this. I hope I achieved that goal.


	24. The Last Train to Hogwarts

Any similarities to any persons living, dead, or – and this one should be obvious – imagined is probably intentional, since I borrowed most of the characters from someone else.

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**24. ****The Last Train to Hogwarts **

Less than a foot from the front gates of Hogwarts, a young man and his ailing guardian blinked into existence. Harry quickly checked to assure himself they'd both arrived intact and found that Albus had slipped into that groggy state between alert and asleep. Keeping one arm behind Albus for support, he twisted to peer at the castle, mentally calculating the quickest route to the hospital wing.

"Harry," a soft voice practically moaned; but it might have been shouted for as easily as it was heard. "Don't try to get me to the school, my boy. Send your Patronus to Severus. He can take care of me while you return for the others."

Shaking his head Harry argued, "But Bill said to get you to the hospital wing … you need Madam Pomfrey."

"No Harry … I much prefer Severus."

"But –"

"I can send the message myself if I must," Albus insisted, his eyes alert even as the rest of him seemed to sag further into Harry's arms, "but I would much rather save my strength. You did promise to follow my command as long as it was not to leave me behind." Despite his obvious fatigue, he tried to smile as he added, "I am not behind, so please do as I ask."

"Yeah … alright," he acquiesced, deciding that he was wasting precious time arguing. Focusing on last night's conversation with Ginny, he sent Prongs flying toward the castle. Task accomplished, he turned back to Albus and tried to keep him awake by guessing at his Animagus form. Three guesses in, Albus' eyelids flickered and he slumped sideways, unconscious. As Harry tried to wake the man, a shadow fell into his line of sight, and he looked up to find the imposing figure of Professor Snape glaring down at him.

Startled, Harry fell onto his behind, nearly dropping Albus in the process, as he explained, "Sir, you need to help. He's been –"

"_Not here_," Snape hissed, scanning the area for witnesses. "We must get him onto the school grounds quickly." With minimal effort, Snape moved Albus onto a stretcher and they were on their way. The three moved silently across the grounds and into the school, and Harry wasn't all that surprised to notice that instead of heading to the hospital wing, Snape was headed toward the Headmaster's private chambers.

Since Snape was controlling the stretcher, Harry went ahead and opened the doors until they arrived in the main room. Snape carefully transferred Albus to the sofa, which Harry, perhaps to make himself feel useful, transfigured into a soft bed. Then, feeling Snape's beady black eyes dissecting his every move, he backed away from his guardian.

"Well," Snape barked in his typical impatient manner, although the look on his face gave away his concern, "tell me what happened …_ quickly, Potter_!"

"We ... took a trip to ... a place," Harry struggled to answer, not sure how much he should explain. "And he was cursed – well, first he drank this nasty potion, and then he was hit by this curse, and it threw him into a stone wall."

Snape's eyes narrowed as he listened, filing away pieces of information for later use. With a quick jerk of his head, he demanded, "Describe the potion – its looks and symptoms."

Deciding Albus' life was more important than any secret, he told Snape as much as he could remember about the potion – from its slimy green appearance, to Bill's recollection that it was meant to incapacitate, to Albus' reaction as he swallowed it. Feeling guilty for his part in making Albus drink the vile concoction, Harry stressed that it had left the Headmaster weak, but not disabled. "It's not the potion that's the problem," he insisted, earning another glare from his professor.

Snape opened his mouth, probably to remind Harry which of them was a potions professor, when Harry cut him off. With steely resolve, he looked the man in the eye and insisted, "Look … Bill drank it too, and he's weak, but otherwise fine. I'm telling you, it's Vo-it's the curse that's the problem."

"You know so much, Potter … then tell me about this curse."

"Well, there's not a lot to tell, now is there," Harry shouted back defensively. "It just came out of nowhere. It's not like I cast it or anything."

"Don't be an imbecile – we haven't time for it. I am fully aware that despite all the rule breaking and poor choices I've seen from you these past six years, you would not have cursed the Headmaster. I need you to tell me exactly what happened to him."

"Oh … right," Harry absently agreed, startled at being off the hook for once. "We were walking through this stone doorway," he explained, "and I had to hold onto him, but I tripped and let go and this light – it was sorta a dark red … maroon maybe? … it came out of, er, the rocks I guess? It wasn't a beam of light, like the Killing Curse, though. It was like a flash of light that filled the entire doorway. It only lasted for maybe a second or two, but it was bright enough that you could still see flashes of it afterwards. And when the light went away – he'd been thrown into the rocks."

He looked at Snape, trying to guess the man's thoughts, but of course Snape gave nothing away, so he added, "Bill made sure there were no pressing injuries and woke him up. It wasn't until after we got to the gates that he passed out again."

Snape frowned, a perplexed look on his face. "You have obviously left out a critical piece of the tale. You just … let go of him? And that translates into him being cursed how?"

Harry bit his tongue to keep from cursing, and tried to calmly explain. "When I let go, he lost my protection, and it triggered the curse. It had something to do with me being the Parselmouth that gave me permission to use the door." He glanced to Snape to see if his explanation had made sense; and the man looked back with a penetrating stare. Suddenly remembering his lessons from Fifth Year, he turned his face to Albus and (uncharacteristically, considering who he was speaking to) begged, "_Please_ tell me you know how to fix this."

"I do not know what exactly encompasses _fixing this_, but I do believe I can easily reverse the effects of the potion. Mister Weasley, I presume you meant, was most probably correct in his guess in that regard. Correcting the damage from the curse will take a bit more doing. Would I be correct to assume that it was the Dark Lord whose hidden curse you so unwittingly unearthed?"

"Er … yeah, I think you could assume that."

"Mmm … the Serpens Morsus curse was once a favorite of the Dark Lord's. He seldom uses it these days, given that he is no longer the sole Parselmouth alive. Would you say the cursed doorway was likely a left over from his first reign?"

"Yes … Sir," he hastily added, thinking that a little kissing up to the man who holds your guardian's life in his hands never hurts.

"Than I think we can safely assume it is the Serpens Morsus Curse. I am, of course, familiar with its treatment – far more so than those bumbling idiots at St. Mungo's. The number of followers who bungled their way into its teeth …," he trailed off. Shaking the thought away, he continued, "but that is neither here nor there. The Headmaster must consume a delicate potion which requires the dried blood of a basilisk. Quite fortunate I now have some on hand."

"Great," Harry chirped, oblivious to Snape's sarcasm. "What do we do now?"

"_We_ do nothing, Mister Potter," Snape replied with his best superiority glare. "I get to work, and you get out of my way." When Harry didn't move, he added, "as in _leave_, Potter. I cannot work with you underfoot, and while the Headmaster is not at death's door yet, time _is_ of the essence."

"Yeah … I'll just wait outside." He gave his guardian one last look, wanting a reassuring touch, but knowing he couldn't in front of the watching Professor. Retreating into the Headmaster's Office, he glanced toward Fawkes' empty perch. "If only you were here," he muttered to himself.

"Well, boy," a gruff voice suddenly demanded, causing Harry to jump and spin, wand in hand. He found himself targeting the portrait of Armando Dippet. The dead Headmaster had a rather sour look to him as he demanded, "How is Albus … is he going to be alright … does that bat know how to cure—"

"Armando," interrupted a female voice that commanded compliance, "give the lad a chance to answer."

Harry dropped his wand and swiveled his head around until he'd spotted the portrait of a lovely middle-aged woman, judging by the fact that her hair was still its natural brunette color. She smiled in acknowledgment, and in a motherly sort of way encouraged, "Go on then, tell us what you can. I believe I speak for us all when I say we are in no hurry whatsoever to have Albus join us on these walls."

Harry moved closer to the portrait, reading the inscription on the plate aloud to himself. "Felicity McCloud, Headmistress, The 7th of September, 1780 until The 14th of January, 1781" Behind him, he was certain he heard snickering.

"Shortest reign as Head in the history of the school, she was," an unwelcomed male voice sang out.

"Yes, thank you, Phineas," replied Felicity, using a voice that sounded like Minerva whenever Albus was most unhelpful. "But Harry was about to tell us about Albus, weren't you Harry dear?"

Speaking directly to Felicity, for he had decided he liked her much better than Dippet, or Phineas Black, or for that matter any of the other stuffy Heads that normally watched him with such open excitement. Skipping their adventure, which was neither her business nor necessary for his story, he went right to what Snape suspected the problem was. He was just telling how he had been asked to leave when a house-elf popped into the room, setting about his dusting as if Harry wasn't even there.

"_Oh crap … Bill and Dobby_," he cried, "I've got to go." And with that, he sprinted out the office door, not slowing until he made it to the castle doors. He jogged the rest of the way to the gate and concentrated on the barren beach where he'd left his friends.

Bill – probably alerted to his return by his heavy breathing – looked up from where he sat on a plaid-covered armchair. Chuckling, he asked, "You didn't forget us, did you Harry?"

"Nah, just got side tracked," he assured him. "Those stuffy old portraits wouldn't let me leave until I filled them in on the Headmaster's condition … which should be improving as we speak. At least, I hope so. He insisted on Snape, if you can believe it … though, I guess that's a good thing, 'cause Snape seemed to figure out pretty quickly what that curse was. And he said he knew how to treat it … and then he kicked me out so he could get to work."

Bill asked a few more questions, and when he was satisfied that Albus was in capable hands, he settled back in his chair and told Harry to take Dobby to the castle first, as the house-elf was probably the worst of the two. Looking where Bill gestured, Harry spotted the elf sitting on the ground, busy wiping a broken sea shell with one of his beloved socks. As he scrubbed he was singing softly to himself, and Harry had to strain to make it out:

"_Pots and pans and plates and cups_  
_scrub 'em, toss 'em on the rugs_  
_now you's got a rug to clean_  
_happ-i-est you's ever been._  
_Pots and pans and plates and cups_  
_Scrub 'em_ -"

"Nice song Dobby. You should sing that for Hermione some time." The elf kept singing, but looked up to Harry with big puppy-like eyes. Over his shoulder Harry agree, "yeah, I'll just get him to the school," before turning back to address the elf. "Come on Dobby," he called out, holding his hand out for the elf to take.

But Dobby made no move to take the hand, although he did drop his shell and grin madly. "Oh, Master has come for Dobby. Would Master like Dobby to slay a dragon for him today, Harry Potter Sir? Dobby knows that nasty dragon tried to steal your egg. But Dobby helped you get it back … yes I did. Dobby gave you some Butterbeer that he stole from Winky, Dobby did, and that did the trick."

Harry turned helplessly to Bill, but the other just snickered and shrugged. "Right then Dobby, how about if I just carry you," Harry asked as he reached down and lifted the elf.

"But Master Harry Potter Sir has promised to never try to save Dobby again," the delirious elf protested.

"Well, this isn't really saving you, Dobby … this is making sure I have you around to clean up after me."

"OH!" the elf exclaimed, bobbing his head up and down. "That is being alright then. But Dobby will have to clean up tomorrow. I is needing a nap right now very much badly." And the elf closed his eyes and slumped over in a dead faint.

Ignoring the laughing wizard behind him, Harry held his little friend close and made another trip to the castle. This time he carried his burden straight to the kitchen, where an ancient looking house-elf, looking even older than Kreacher – which Harry hadn't thought possible – assured him Dobby would be cared for.

Making what he hoped would be his last trip to the horrible cave, Harry helped return Bill's chair to its original driftwood state and escorted him back to Hogwarts. On their way up to the castle, Bill tried to hand Harry the broken remains of the locket, but he refused the item.

"Keep it," he bitterly spit out, "it's worthless. We did all that for nothing."

Bill nodded his understanding; he'd suspected as much ever since he'd picked the piece up off the ground. At the third floor Harry tried to turn toward the hospital wing, but Bill insisted he would be fine and that he needed to see Albus for himself. Not bothering to argue, Harry led the way to Albus' quarters.

They found Albus propped up on pillows in his sick bed, covered with a blanket knitted in bright primary colors, with a baby-blue night cap perched on his head. He was trying to convince Snape that he was well enough for a nightcap of the liquid variety, but didn't appear to be succeeding.

"William," Snape said, bowing his head in greeting. "I see I was correct in my assumption. Although honestly, you were the one Weasley I would have expected would steer well clear of Potter's hair-brained schemes. Or," he paused to glare briefly at Albus before turning back to Bill and continuing, "was this perhaps one of the _Headmaster's_ hair-brained schemes?"

Bill didn't answer the question, but he was unable to keep the smile off his face, not when he could see Albus silently laughing behind Snape's back.

"In either event," Snape continued, ignoring the not-completely-silent snickers coming from behind him, "there is an Elixir to Induce Euphoria on the table that will clear up any lingering effects from the Phantasm Infusion you consumed. You may help yourself to some on your way out."

Thus dismissed – and having seen for himself that Albus was indeed recovering – Bill grabbed the potion and swallowed it down. He thanked Snape for his kindness, said goodbye to Harry, and promised to visit Albus the next day. The door closed behind him, leaving an awkward silence in the room.

Albus was the one to break it, and he did so in his typical way. "How very astute of you, Severus, to guess that the hair-brained scheme was mine. I like to think my plans have a certain flair … an elegance to them that – no offense, Harry – but as a schoolboy, his lack."

"Hey!" Harry shot back, clearly offended despite Albus' assurance, "I could do elegant, if I had more time to set things up. But Voldemort doesn't exactly owl to coordinate our calendars, you know? You try being flair-ish when there's a basilisk breathing down your neck and a half-resurrected Dark Lord hovering in the background that just won't shut up."

"Potter, don't." Snape replied, sounding tired. "I know you do not normally respect my opinion … nor any other adult's for that matter … but trust me in this. You do not want to follow in the Headmaster's footsteps in this regard. A senile old man can get away with manipulations and schemes, but in the young it is just seen as domineering. One need only consider the late Lucius Malfoy to appreciate my meaning."

Too startled by the unexpected advice, Harry could only stutter a reply. "Er … alright … I'll try to keep that in mind."

Albus, while pleased that the two seemed to be getting along, couldn't help but worry that they might suddenly join forces against him.

"See that you do, Potter," Snape replied, "I have enough trouble keeping you from killing yourself as it is."

Then again, maybe not.

-000-

Minerva entered Albus' quarters expecting to find a sleeping Headmaster. Instead, she found a wide awake Headmaster, sitting up in his bed reading from a book. No, it was the school's Head Boy who was sound asleep, slumped over at an odd angle in his chair. The book he'd been reading – Defensive Spells for Every Occasion – had fallen to the floor, looking oddly offended at being forgotten. It would have been a touching moment, except that said Boy was supposed to be in London, boarding a train.

With a chuckling Headmaster watching, Minerva made short work of waking Harry … "NOW, Mister Potter! What kind of Head Boy oversleeps and misses the train? Perhaps we should have given that badge to Mister Finnigan, who's only fault to date seems to be a love for all things alcoholic" … and sending him on his way.

In record time he'd thrown clean robes on over his dirty clothes, grabbed his school bag (he was leaving his trunk behind this time), and shouted a hasty goodbye as he fled the quarters. Using a hidden stair case and one of the service doors he burst out the back side of the castle and sprinted to the deserted chapel. From there, it only took seconds to leave the school grounds using the gatehouse passageway. Then, in the blink of an eye, he reappeared in a men's restroom at King's Cross Station. Luckily, the cubicle was unoccupied at the time.

One last sprint found him outside Platform 9 and ¾. Instead of arriving early, as he felt the Head Boy should, a frazzled Harry checked his watch to see he'd arrived at his usual time. Which is to say, he had about ten minutes to get on board. Luckily – or was it fate – the Weasleys were also running their usual schedule, so he ran into them on the platform.

The four teens – Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione – were in too much of a hurry to be picky, so they hustled into the first car they found that had room for all of them. In fact, it's only occupant was a scrawny looking Hufflepuff boy, who looked up wide-eyed as the older students asked to join him. He mutely nodded his agreement, not that he'd needed to, seeing how they'd already moved in. Ron and Hermione hurriedly threw their robes on, and they and Harry dashed off to the Prefects meeting, leaving Ginny to break the ice with the young boy.

The meeting was, in Harry's opinion, spectacularly boring. He and Padma had already worked out how to manage today's meeting, so at least it went smoothly. Hermione was impressed. Finishing his requisite pep talk, Harry turned it over to Padma, then completely tuned out as she went over, well, whatever it was she went over. That was followed by Hermione, who stood up and recited … something_ … _in a way that strongly brought History classes to mind.

Finally, thankfully, the meeting itself was over, and those Prefects not taking early patrols began to mingle. Off to the side, two Fifth Years were giving Harry sly looks as they appeared to be re-enacting the Second Task. Now, Minerva had suggested that Harry spend the entire trip in the Prefect's Car getting to know his fellow do-gooders, but there was no way he was sticking around and getting dragged into _that _conversation. Muttering something about homework to Hermione, he made a run for the exit.

He's barely registered another following him until he heard the sound of a throat being cleared behind him. "A moment if you please, Potter," a strong voice called out, and Harry turned back to find himself facing one of the Sixth Year Slytherin Prefects – the tallish, muscular one … well, the one that needed a shave.

"Sure … Harper, is it?" Harry was sure to leave a bit of space between himself and the boy, his right hand dropping down to nonchalantly hang near his wand pocket. "Can you make it quick though? I have to meet someone."

"I won't take but a moment, and its Dierks – Dierks Harper. I wasn't sure if you'd remember me. I filled in for Vaisey in the match last year. It was amazing flying against you, by the way. I still remember you going against that dragon in the tournament – and I remember thinking then … this guy's for real, ya know? I mean – you were what, fourteen, beating a bunch of seventeen year olds. I knew right then – if it ever comes to picking sides, I wanted to pick yours."

"Oh … er … thanks," Harry managed to stutter out, embarrassed beyond words. "I would have thought all those articles about how crazy I am would have turned you off that idea."

"Nah … my Grandfather says when the Daily Prophet turns on you, then you know you're doing something right."

"Good to know," he replied, mainly because he couldn't think of anything else to say. Honestly, this guy – this Slytherin, that he'd interacted with maybe once before – was a … a _fan boy_?

The other boy laughed, no doubt seeing the odd look on Harry's face. "Don't look like that – you happen to have a very high opinion of my Grandfather; at least if that stuff you said in your interview was the truth."

"Your grandfather is …"

"Gemini Bluestreak," Harper confirmed, "and Minister for Magic, thanks to you."

Harry's modesty wouldn't let him accept the thanks. "Oh, I wouldn't go that far. All I did was say who I would vote for, if I could."

"Right. And I'm sure nobody at all paid attention to your opinion. Probably never even read that interview."

"Well," Harry conceded, "maybe one or two were swayed."

"Look Potter, aside from saying thanks, I wanted to let you know … some of us – no, a lot of us – we aren't from dark families – we don't believe that dragon dung You-Know-Who is spouting. I guess I just wanted you to know that you have friends in Slytherin House. If you ever need us … well, just ask." And then he did something unexpected. He stuck out his hand.

Harry barely hesitated before reaching out and shaking the hand. "I'll certainly keep that in mind, Dierks. The way trouble finds me, I just might end up doing that."

A loud commotion in the distance – a plump boy had backed into a wall as three shrieking girls surrounded him – drew their attention. Both glanced down the hall, and Harper sighed loudly. Turning to Harry, he explained, "that'd be Catterwall, my maturity-stunted roommate. He seems to think he can impress girls by … well … it's probably best if I don't explain it to you. You're Head Boy – you'd probably report him. I'll go take care of it."

Harry waited until Harper had coerced his housemates back into their compartment before sliding around the open door – purposely not hearing the girls' complaints – to find his girlfriend. As he quickly traveled the length of the train he briefly wondered about the younger student he would be sitting with.

He needn't have bothered. Ginny was alone in the compartment when he found her, and she dropped her magazine into her lap as she turned his way, an entirely too angelic look on her face.

"What did you do?" he asked, leaning casually against the door frame as he crossed his arms over his chest. He hoped it wasn't too serious; he did not need all of Hufflepuff hating him again.

"Nothing," she easily replied. But he didn't buy it, and he continued to stand there looking at her.

"Honest," she insisted. "All I did was introduce myself. And confirm who you all were, of course. His eyes kinda bugged out when I said that, but I assured him that we're nice people ... I even apologized in advance for any trouble there might be, seeing as how you're the Boy Who Lived, and you were attacked on this very train - _again_ - last September." She paused for a minute, tipping her head in thought, "Oh, but I told him he didn't have anything to worry about, because I'm sure there won't be any trouble this time. And besides, Hermione knows plenty of healing charms, and I'm really good at getting blood stains out of robes. Next thing I knew, he was running out the door … didn't even take his trunk. Strange little guy."

"Yeah … can't imagine why he left." Harry moved into the compartment and plopped down on the seat next to Ginny. He explained that Ron and Hermione were both doing first rounds, causing Ginny to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively. "Actually … I'd really rather just sit together. Seba was hurt last night – he's going to be fine," Harry quickly added, seeing the concern on her face, "but it was a rough night. I'll tell you the full story, but can we wait until the others are here so I only have to tell it once?"

She nodded her agreement as she wrapped her arm around him, pulling them flush and resting her head on his shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence until their door popped open and Ron came in, followed minutes later by Hermione.

"Oh, I've been waiting till Harry was with us to tell you all something," Hermione excitedly explained before she'd even had the time to sit down. "I would have said something sooner, but it only just happened this morning. I got this letter," and here she reached into her bag and pulled out a manila envelope with the Wizengamot logo emblazoned on the front. "I've been selected as British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot. It's so exciting. I'd read all about it years ago, but I never really thought I had a chance of being selected. I mean, with my work with SPEW, and being best friends with Harry – no offense Harry, but you know what I mean –"

"Yeah, I know, they can never decide if they love me or hate me."

"Exactly!" she agreed, relieved he'd understood her comment. "And then there was that whole Ministry break-in, which was a good thing, I suppose, as it proved Voldemort had returned, but … it was a bit illegal, don't you think? I mean, we did break in – and to the Department of Mysteries, no less. So I was sure that I could never get selected. But I was! And it's such an honor. Did you know Professor Dumbledore was selected when he was only a Sixth Year? Oh, well, of course you knew, Harry."

"Congratulations, Hermione," Harry said, in what he hoped was a happy voice. "That's really great. I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks," she replied, but she tipped her head in thought as she added, "but I can tell you're not quite as excited as I am."

" 'Mione, no one would be as excited about this as you are," Ron offered.

"Oh hush," she said to Ron, before turning back to her other friend. "Harry … is something wrong? You don't seem as happy for me as you usually are, and at the meeting earlier you were rather quiet. Did something happen?"

Instead of answering, he motioned toward the door, and Hermione took the hint and locked it tight, using a neat charm that allowed them to hear things outside, but not the outside to hear them. "It wouldn't do for the Head Boy to be inaccessible," she reasoned.

Smiling at his friend's logic, he took a deep breath and launched into a play-by-play of the disastrous trip to the cave. The only detail he left out was the identity of the third wizard – but the way he wouldn't look at Ginny as he talked might have been a give-away. His friends were as sickened as he'd been when they heard about the bodies in the lake. But when he was describing the horror that had once been called Lucius Malfoy, Ginny broke out in wild laughter.

"Oh … that's just too perfect. That's the ultimate irony, that is." Three confused faces looked at her, so Ginny explained, "because his body will rot in that musty old cave forever … that's what they had planned for me, but it happened to him instead."

Hermione smiled – one of those half smiles that says 'I understand' – while Harry just pulled her close and kissed her forehead. Ron, being the perceptive individual he is, which is to say that he didn't completely understand the reference but at least knew he was missing something, took it upon himself to break the silence. "So, Malfoy aside, then what happened?"

He summarized the rest as best he could, from their escape, to Albus' injury and Snape's role in his recovery, to getting a loopy Dobby back to the castle, wrapping up with an edited version of Minerva chasing him out of the castle to get to the train.

"So, basically," he sighed, "we've lost another Horcrux. The cup was moved, the snake was replaced, and this one was stolen. Without them, he can never be killed. And if he's not the one that dies …"

"Oh Harry," Hermione admonished, "don't you dare think like that."

"She's right, mate." Ron concurred. "We haven't let anything stop us yet. We'll find them somehow."

"I don't care what Trelawney thinks," Ginny added in a voice full of conviction, "there is no other option. You _will_ get rid of You-Know-Who."

"No, Ginny," Harry replied straight-faced, "I don't know. Who?"

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "You know I'm not afraid to say it, it's just habit." When Harry didn't respond, she continued, "Fine … Voldemort, Harry. Also known as the Dark Lord, the Heir of Slytherin, and the Red-Eyed Wanker."

"Red-Eyed Wanker?" Ron questioned, "that's a new one." Hermione looked like she was going to say something about his language, so he jumped to defend himself, "Don't look at me, I didn't make it up. Like it though."

"I sorta made that one up myself," Ginny explained. Looking at Ron, she got an almost evil gleam in her eyes as she said, "although … I wonder if it's appropriate. I mean, he's not really human any more … do you think he even _can_ –"

"_NO_!" Ron yelled. "We are _NOT_ having this conversation again." He put his hands over his ears as he added, "la, la, la, la"

The other three doubled over in laughter at Ron's expense, although Harry's laughter tapered off long before the girls' did. Ginny reached behind him and started rubbing circles in his back, earning her a tender smile.

"You know," Hermione thought aloud, "there can't be that many places that Voldemort would be willing to hide his new Horcrux. I mean, after Malfoy's mishandling, he's bound to be more careful, isn't he? So really … all we have to do is figure out what places he would consider safe."

"Yeah," Ron eagerly concurred, "surely we can figure this out. We figured out where the Chamber was, didn't we?"

"Not really," Harry disagreed, "we only figured out that Myrtle was the victim. She told us where the entrance was."

Ron gave Harry a penetrating look. "You possessed by Snape today or something? 'Cause that downer attitude's not really helping."

Startled, Harry turned to Ginny and asked, "Did he just compare me to Snape?"

"Why yes, I do believe he did," she sweetly replied.

Leaning closer, he asked, "Think he's got a point?"

"Well, it is rather like Snape to downplay your accomplishments, now isn't it?" At Harry's horrified expression, she carefully continued, "I think – and it's really killing me to admit this – but I think that Ron's making a very good point. No matter how much help you had, you _did_ find the Chamber, which is more than anyone else had done. Well, except Tom Riddle, I guess."

"Fine – I'll try to be more like Flitwick then, shall I?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Hermione chided, "you could never be _that_ cheerful."

"He could go the McGonagall route," Ginny countered. "You know," and she straightened in her seat as she changed her voice to sound eerily similar to their professor. "Having a Horcrux is against school rules, Mister Riddle, and I dare say you already knew this. That's ten points from Slytherin, and I must insist you turn over the accursed items right this minute, or it'll be a week's detention with Mister Filch."

Everyone cracked smiles, no doubt picturing their strict Head of House standing in front of a sulking Voldemort, her hands on her hips, maybe even glaring over her glasses as Albus would do.

"How about the Hagrid approach?" Ron cleared his throat and did his best Hagrid voice, (although it wasn't quite as good an impression as Ginny's). "Dark Lord's is just misunderstood, see. You just gotta be nice to 'em … maybe read 'em a bedtime story and give 'em a teddy bear. And before ya know it, they'll be tellin' ya where they hid their Horcruxes while ya share a pint."

Now the four were openly laughing. "I've got it," Hermione chimed in. Making her voice as deep as she could while trying to contain her laughter, she said, "Clearly, He Who Must Not Be Named did not follow the Ministry approved guidelines for proper storage of illicit devices of immortality. A strongly worded letter of warning will be sent, and I expect he'll agree to turn over the contraband to an approved Ministry official posthaste." The voice was a bit high, but she'd managed to puff her chest out in perfect imitation, causing the raucous laughter to increase significantly.

"No, no, no," Ginny cut in, and this time she had several false starts before she was able to speak. "_Tom Riddle_ – what were you thinking?," she shrieked. "Going after innocent little babies … killing Ministers … making Horcruxes? You march yourself into that castle _right now_ and you give the Headmaster _every single one_ of those abominations. And if I find out you've made any more, you'll find out just how painful sitting can be!"

The four friends were cracking-up at the dead-on impersonation; Harry and Ginny falling against each other as they shook with laughter. Ron's face had turned red, perhaps from lack of oxygen as he had laughed so hard he was now gulping air.

"Wait …," Harry finally managed to choke out, "… I've got one." He crossed his arms over his chest and spoke in a soft, slow voice. "Your father helped give you life, Tom; and killing him in his own home was a poor way to repay him. And look what you've become. You look more like a snake than a man, Tom. Except your eyes … you've got some freaky-arse eyes. How about we share some chocolate and you can tell me all about your Horcruxes."

"Sure thing, Professor Lupin," Ginny agreed, just before collapsing in a fit of giggles. "Though I don't think I've ever heard you say _freaky-arse_ before."

Hermione was the first to recover. "Right – well, as much fun as that was, I don't think any of those are going to work. But I do think we can figure out some possible hiding places." She grabbed her ever-present book bag and pulled out parchment and quill. "why don't we brainstorm – just name anyplace you can think of that might hold significance to Voldemort. We'll list them all for now, then we can go through the list and discuss them."

It was all very business-like, and she got right to work putting a neat heading on the parchment.

_Places of Interest_

"Right," she began, "Since there was already one hidden there, I think we can leave off Hogwarts. Plus, I don't see any way for him to have gotten into the school recently. Agreed?" When the others nodded, she continued. "Fine then … what about the orphanage he grew up in?"

"Nah," Harry responded, "Seba already thought of that. Turns out it was bought by the Lestrange family and the building's gone now, so that's a dead end."

"Oh, alright," Hermione sadly agreed. It was clear she hadn't expected that place to have already been searched. "I have another idea … but you might not like it."

That comment instantly sobered Harry, who almost sounded afraid as he asked what it was.

"I was thinking … because it sounds like something he would do … and it would be totally unexpected … but of course he might be uncomfortable—"

"If you don't spit it out soon," Ron interrupted, "we'll be uncomfortable."

Hermione shot Ron an icy glare as she huffed, "oh fine … I was thinking of Godric's Hollow, Harry … of your old house."

"Riiight," Ron snorted, "like Voldemort's really going to go back to the place where he was defeated by a snot-nosed rug rat."

"Hey!" Harry shouted, rather offended by the description; but Ginny made her displeasure known with a swift kick to Ron's shin.

"Put it on your list," Harry told Hermione, "it actually makes sense, in a twisted sort of way."

By the time the trolley had come and gone, and the sack lunches and sweets had been eaten, they had added Borgin & Burkes, Malfoy Manor, the Hog's Head ("it _is_ where the prophecy was made," Hermione had argued), the Riddle House of Little Hangleton, and where ever he had hidden while in Albania. Less likely, but still making the list, were Platform 9 ¾, the Hogwart's Express (which made them all look around uncomfortably), St. Mungo's, and a shocking suggestion from Ginny – his father's grave.

Going over the list a final time, they agreed that Platform 9 ¾ wouldn't be safe enough – too many fully-trained witches and wizards congregated there. They also scratched off Albania, as Harry didn't think he'd left the country since making his newest Horcrux, and Ginny felt Voldemort was unlikely to ever return to his place of exile.

In all, they had eight leads. Although he didn't say so out loud – in case he jinxed himself – Harry just had a feeling that the Award Horcrux was very likely to be hidden in a place on their list. Unfortunately, some of the places would be hard, if not impossible, to check. After all, Voldemort was last reported to be living in Malfoy Manor. Borgin & Burkes was probably so full of dark objects that searching it might take months. And St. Mungo's – which had been included because, as Hermione pointed out, "it's never been attacked, not even during the goblin rebellions" – with its ever-changing staff and patrons, closed wards and dangerous materials, was full of potholes and pitfalls.

"Too bad you're taking those happy pills," Ron had commented at one point. "Otherwise, you might have a vision of him hiding the stupid thing."

"You know," Hermione said, purposely ignoring Ron's comment, "I wonder about the cup and the locket. It was such a shame that Ravenclaw's tiara had to be destroyed. I just wish there was a way to save them – they're really valuable relics. I wonder if the sawol could be removed. I mean, he did that with the snake."

"I don't know," Ginny mused, "didn't Snape say Nagini's body was destroyed by the ritual?"

"It was cremated, I think," Harry explained, "but I don't know if that's because of the ritual or not. I mean, she was dying anyway, and I think he really did care for her, so maybe that was just his way of – I don't know – honoring her?"

"Well, I think I'm going to do a bit of research," Hermione insisted. Somehow, no one was surprised to hear this. "It certainly couldn't hurt. And Harry, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to promise me that you won't destroy any Horcrux you might find until I've finished my research."

"I don't think I can promise that, Hermione. That's really up to Seba."

"Well, of course I realize it's up to him, but you could ask him—you could explain to him that I want to try to save the relics. I would think he would jump at the chance to preserve even one priceless school relic."

"Fine," Harry conceded, realizing by the set of her eyes that this was one of those things she was likely to turn into a crusade, "I'll say some thing to him."

"That's all I ask," she replied, clearly confident that the Headmaster would agree with her.

In seemingly no time, the whistle blew, the train slowed, and the four teens set out for a new – and for three of them final – school year. Harry had to stay to help clear the train, so the others grabbed a carriage and headed off. Less than twenty minutes later, he and Padma had helped confirm all the students had disembarked and they caught the last carriage to the castle.

At the front door, Harry told Padma to go on without him. She shrugged and headed on, but instead of looking for his friends, he snuck around the groups milling about and headed up the main staircase.

His goal was Albus' sickroom. He'd made it up the first flight of stairs and was rounding the base of the second when a cold voice rang out, "Out of bounds before term even starts … why am I not surprised?"

"Pr-professor," Harry stuttered out as he skidded to a stop. At the top of the staircase he'd been about to climb, Snape was beginning a slow descent. A horrible smile spread across his teacher's face, strangely reminding him of the look on Arthur Weasley's face when he'd been given a hearing-aid battery. "I was just going up to check on … er … the Headmaster."

As Harry had been speaking, Snape had climbed down so he was standing one step above him. The step plus Snape's natural height forced Harry to tip his head uncomfortably to look Snape in the face.

"And yet, _'the er Headmaster',_'' Snape said with an obvious sneer in his voice, "is not your concern. Just because he included you in one of his idiotic schemes does not give you leave to pick and choose which school rules you follow. Te-" and Snape stopped mid-stream, perhaps remembering his decision to be nicer to the little twerp, lest the boy actually succeed in defeating the Dark Lord. "Two points from Gryffindor for being out of bounds, and … one point for showing proper concern for the Headmaster."

Harry's jaw was surely going to hit the floor. _'Hello, Voldemort, is it by chance snowing where you are?' _He had no idea how to respond.

"Now," Snape continued, as if there was nothing odd about him giving a point to Gryffindor, "turn yourself around and run along to the Great Hall like a good little boy. Your partner in crime will be right where you left him when the feast is finished. And Potter … not a word of this to anyone, or we shall see how long it takes you to hand wash every window in this school, inside and out."

Snape followed Harry all the way to the Gryffindor table before taking his own seat at the head table. His friends looked like they wanted to question him, but he shook his head to hold them off. Ginny gestured to the head table, and Harry turned to take a look. Albus, of course, wasn't there; but McGonagall was, and she was sitting in Albus' seat.

Minutes later, Professor Flitwick lead in the new crop of First Years, and the sorting began. After the Sorting Hat belted out a whimsical tune about four furry little woodland animals that worked together to save themselves from being eaten by a snake, and even Harry had grasped the real message, Flitwick began reciting names. When the last student (Wimple, Griselda – Hufflepuff) was seated at her new table, McGonagall stood up and with one look silenced the crowd.

Another year at Hogwarts was about to begin.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes: **Just a rundown of spells, etc.:

Serpens Morsus – the serpent's bite. Really nasty curse used by Voldemort to protect places and things during his first reign. Fell out of favor when he found out he wasn't the only parselmouth anymore. It's remedy requires a potion made using the dried blood of a basilisk.

Phantasm Infusion – that's the name I gave the green jello-like potion that Voldemort left to protect his Horcrux.

Elixir to Induce Euphoria – I found it on the HP Lexicon. Doesn't that sound like a good counter to a potion that makes you relive your worst memories?


	25. Third Time's a Charm

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter. Got it? Do Not Own him. Truth be told, if I could own any character from the books, it wouldn't be him – it would be Dobby. I mean, seriously, someone who will clean my house, get me food, watch my back, and tell me how great I am while he does it all? If I could, I would marry Dobby.

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**Chapter 25. Third Time's a Charm**

_well, not really a charm, I mean, it's not a spell or anything like that. So I guess it's really just the third time, but Third Time didn't sound like a catchy chapter title._

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"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. For those of you new to our family, I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House, and Transfiguration Professor. And for all, Professor Dumbledore asked me to read this brief message." With little of the fanfare that Albus would have added, she picked up a scroll and unrolled it. Clearing her throat, she read,

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. My most humble apologies for not being able to attend tonight's feast, but rest assured I am fine. As a special treat to apologize for my absence, I have asked the house-elves to send up bowls of my favorite mint chocolate cockroach cluster ice cream in lieu of soup. So grab your spoons and dig in."

His message left a sour look on McGonagall's face, but no one noticed because as soon as the magic words had been spoken, platters of food and individual bowls of ice cream appeared on the tables, and the students did as told and dug in. Between bites, Harry could hear his fellow students wildly speculating on Albus' whereabouts. Someone a few seats down guessed that he got his beard caught in something; Lavender was telling Dean that she was certain he'd fallen off one of the moving stair cases; but the best theory could be heard from across the hall, where Luna was telling her friends that there was nothing wrong with the Headmaster. He'd obviously realized it was European Bushy-tailed Cabbit mating season, and he was observing their group mating dance in the Forbidden Forest. Apparently, it was a show like no other.

When tummies were full and ice cream was melted and the tables were cleared, Minerva stood for the start of term announcements. "First, our annual reminder from Mister Filch. I shall not bore you with a reading of the official list of forbidden items and places - your prefects can answer any questions you have - although I truthfully would expect that you are all old enough to understand that if it has the word 'forbidden' right in its name, it's a pretty safe guess that it is, in fact, forbidden."

A few other boring announcements followed which Harry paid no attention to whatsoever; at least not until it was time introduce the new Defense teacher. Looking down the table, he caught sight of Mrs. Lupin fidgeting with her water goblet. Gone were the vibrantly colored hair, carefree smile, and comfortable Muggle clothes. The woman sitting at the Head table had long, wavy black hair pulled away from her face, a pleasant but still professional look to her face, and simple scarlet robes over a ruffled white blouse.

Harry was struck with the thought that she looked like her mother, and judging by Hermione's look of recognition, she saw it too. But before either could say anything, McGonagall had announced her as Professor Lupin, sparking interest throughout the hall. Apparently, many of the older students remembered the first Professor Lupin.

Tonks, as Harry still thought of her, stood and gave a friendly wave before Minerva continued. "I am sorry to inform you that Hogsmeade trips are cancelled for all underage students, and those of age are strongly urged to refrain from going as well. In their stead, we have arranged for shopkeepers to bring their goods to us. Beginning in October, we will host an open market in old Greenhouse Five on the first Saturday of every month. As this is a substitute for Hogsmeade trips, only those who would normally be allowed in Hogsmeade, that is to say, Third Years and above with signed permission slips, will be allowed. Further details will be posted in your common rooms closer to the first date."

Before anyone could ask, Harry shook his head to indicate that he hadn't known about this. He supposed it was a good idea, what with Death Eater's getting bolder. Or should he say, Voldemort getting more desperate? Before he could get too carried away in his thoughts, he heard Minerva explaining about the Yule Ball, and he winked at his girlfriend. Next to him, Ron appeared to be trying to memorize the pattern in the wood grain, if his unwavering stare at it was any indication.

With one final reminder to get a good night's rest before classes started in the morning, Minerva released the students to their common rooms. Harry was one of the first to jump from his seat, telling his friends he'd meet them later before dashing out of the hall. He made it as far as the gargoyle, and was just about to give his personal password when it sprung open to reveal Bill Weasley. If he was surprised to see Harry, he certainly didn't show it.

"He's awake," Bill said in lieu of a greeting, "and expecting you, I'm sure. I just came by to see that he's recovering well, and to let him know that I took care of the you-know-what."

"The what?"

"The you-know-what," Bill explained with a grin.

"Oh. Good. And how did you take care of the … ah … you-know-what?"

"Well, I put it back in the place. I mean, that's where it came from, so it only made sense to put it back there."

"So … you put the you-know-what back in the place where it came from?" Harry questioned.

"Yeah. That's not a problem, is it? I mean, Albus seemed to think it was a good idea."

"Oh, well if he thinks it's a good idea, I'm sure it is," Harry responded, trying to sound confident, and adding, "He's usually right about these things, you know."

"It's funny, in a way," Bill continued, "that we went to all that trouble for a fake. I don't know how well you looked at it, but in the light of day, it was so obvious it wasn't the right _thing_." He heavily stressed the word 'thing', no doubt being vigilant lest they be overheard. "It was way too plain to be some special _thing_. Heck, that ugly old one back at your place looks more like a thing than it did."

"The ugly what?" Harry asked, his face perfectly imitating Goyle's any time a professor called on him.

"Harry … you don't have the slightest idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Er, yeah … kinda. I mean …" he looked around to be certain they were alone, and then caste a quick Muffliato just for added measure before continuing, "I think, I mean, you must be talking about that locket, right?"

"Yeah Harry," Bill chucked, "that's what I mean. Glad you were able to keep up."

Ignoring the wise crack, he asked, "But why would you bother to put it back?"

"Because we don't want You-Know-Who to get suspicious and know that we're looking for it. We really shouldn't have taken it out of the cave without replacing it with a decoy in the first place. I mean, we left traces of ourselves all over that place. Now I know that there's a whole lot more going on than just retrieving Hogwarts relics – don't bother, I don't need to know – so I figured we'd better cover ourselves. So I returned and put it back in its place, and then I cleaned the area. Cleaning is something we do in the old tombs … they can get cranky if they feel disturbed."

Before Harry could ask, Bill assured him that he'd been very careful, and that he was certain that even You-Know-Who himself wouldn't know they'd been there. He bid Harry goodnight, explaining he had a pregnant wife that was expecting peach ice cream, and left. Harry continued his way up to the private chambers, finding Albus in pretty much the same place he'd left him this morning, but with a healthier color to his skin.

They visited for maybe an hour before Minerva arrived. This time, instead of chasing Harry out, she pulled up a chair and joined in their talk. Albus was quite excited to hear about the welcoming feast and his new students, and was particularly interested in which foods had been served. Off to the side, Harry noticed a dinner tray consisting of a mostly full bowl of plain porridge with toast and jam, and very weak tea. Unappetizing indeed.

As the night drew late, Albus grew quieter until finally he'd fallen asleep, and Harry watched as Minerva drew the covers up tight, carefully tucking them under his beard. She escorted Harry into the Head's office, where she drew him close. "He'll be fine, Harry," she assured the worried boy. "A trustworthy healer from St. Mungo's examined him earlier today, and whatever Severus did for him seems to have done the trick. Whatever that curse was, it did quite enough damage before being stopped. He's on bed rest for a week – not that I expect we can actually keep him there – and he'll be generally slow for a while after that, but there should be no lasting damage."

Harry thanked her for the information and turned to leave, when she spoke again. "I remember when I was learning the Animagus Transformation. My teacher had gone over it step by step, multiple times, until we were both confident I could do it. We worked together for weeks until finally I was ready. With him standing guard, I transformed for the first time. And it was amazing. At least, for the first twenty minutes or so. That's about when I realized that I hadn't a clue how to transform back. It took my teacher over an hour to figure out that I wasn't trying to play with his robes, I was trying to get his attention."

"You don't mean …"

"I most certainly do. Albus Dumbledore, for all his wisdom and greatness, forgot to teach me how to return to my human form. My point, Harry, is that everyone makes mistakes. Learn from it, be thankful there was no lasting damage, and move on. You can't let this cause you to second guess your every move or every instinct. If Albus had, I dare say we'd have been short one leader these past many years."

"Thanks Professor … I'll keep that in mind." With a small nod, he started moving, before turning back and adding, "especially if he offers to teach me to be an Animagus."

-000-

Harry spent much of that first week of school in a rush. It seemed to him that all his classes picked up right where they'd left off the previous year, and homework was already mounting.

Transfiguration and Charms – subjects he'd been near the top of last year – each started with nasty quizzes to refresh their memories and warm up their wands. He'd been caught off guard but he was certain he'd done fine on each.

Often considered the two most useful NEWTs, the two classes were the most popular, and Harry's year was no exception. Each class had around 25 students, so he'd been quite surprised when Hermione had pointed out that several students had either dropped or been booted from each class over the summer.

"Only about one third of the students that start Hogwarts each year will finish with five or more NEWTs," she'd explained, "which you _should_ know. It's in the appendix of Hogwarts: A History, which I know you've read."

"But not the boring parts," he'd countered. It was a strange statistic; if you're here anyway, why not take a full course load? But thinking back, he could remember that many of the job pamphlets required more OWLs than NEWTs. Even Dean Thomas, who Harry had always thought of as mostly-studious, was only working on three NEWTs – Defense, Herbology and Arithmancy. He'd dropped Charms this year so he could fit in a correspondence course in The Art of Magical Art, which had its own Charms component.

Unfortunately, two faces he'd have rather not seen were still in both classes. Michael Corner, the berk Ginny had dated back when she'd been young and foolish, liked to tell off-color jokes involving stupid men saying or doing stupid things, and for some reason the guy in the jokes was always named Harry. Far worse was Theodore Nott, whose eyes tended to follow Harry around the classroom. When caught, he'd often smile and wink before turning away. Harry wasn't sure if Nott was blatantly spying for Voldemort or nursing a secret crush – and he couldn't decide which was more disturbing.

Suffice to say, Corner and Nott threatened to ruin his enthusiasm for the classes. Threatened; not succeeded. The majority of his classmates were friendly toward him, and of course his two best friends were at his side. It also didn't hurt that he was genuinely good at the subjects now that he was applying himself. He'd even earned points in both classes already – in Transfiguration for being able to explain why food can be changed but not conjured and in Charms for being the only one to create a perfect Anti-gravity Mist, which an unfortunate Ernie Macmillian backed into.

Wednesday found Harry and Hermione heading to the dungeons for the first Potions class of the year, and Harry was decidedly uncomfortable about it. On one hand, he was still a Head's Candidate, so he knew he was off-limits as far as Snape's condescending remarks and vicious rebukes were concerned. But on the other hand, the man had given a point to Gryffindor!

Giving points to anyone that wasn't a Slytherin was rare enough; but to a Gryffindor, and a Potter to boot? It had left Harry decidedly unsettled. So much so that he'd mentioned it to Albus, who had merely laughed it off. "The inner working of Severus' mind are a mystery I fear even I cannot solve," he'd explained; although the twinkling in the old man's eyes made Harry doubt this assertion.

Also of concern was Snape's troubles from the day before, which were certain to have put him in a foul mood. Not a single First Year, not even his precious Slytherins, had seen fit to attend his class, leaving him with back-to-back empty lessons. It wasn't until he'd cornered several First Years in the Slytherin common room that he'd discovered the truth. The students had tried to attend class, but when they'd headed into the dungeons they'd found his corridor roped off with a large sign proclaiming "Forbidden Corridor". Well, after the Deputy Headmistress' clear statement that something with 'forbidden' right in its name was obviously forbidden, they'd felt they had no choice but to turn back around. After spending almost an hour trying to find another entrance, they'd given up and headed to their next class.

So there Harry was, walking into the man's lair, worried about what awaited him. And in the end, it was rather a letdown. Snape swooped into the room, barked for quiet, and babbled on about the delicate nature of some potion the way most men described their lovers. The class handed in their summer work, took their notes, and prepared their draughts in relative silence. Snape prowled around the work tables, dissecting everyone's work when he could, and remaining silent when he couldn't. And true to form, he completely ignored Harry's existence.

But that was fine with Harry. He was again using his beat up copy of the textbook – following the hand-written instructions where they differed from the printed instructions but ignoring any more spells he found. It also helped that there was no annoying Malfoy in the class; no unknown objects being lobbed into his cauldron and no revolting arse-kissing for all the class to hear.

At the end of the period he was able to turn in what he believed was a flawlessly brewed Draught of Silence, setting it on Snape's desk next to several other pearly golden concoctions. But stranger than the whole class brewing perfectly was the fact that Snape had not taken a single point all period – not from anyone. Not even when Terry Boot splashed his finished draught on Ernie Macmillian, causing the Hufflepuff to lose his voice for the rest of the day. Of course, knowing Snape's opinion of Macmillian, perhaps it was more of a surprise that points hadn't been awarded to Boot.

Harry followed up his first potions lesson of the year with his only Arithmancy lesson of the week. Arriving right on time, he was pleased to see Hannah Abbott also continuing the class. The two had had a lot of fun working together last year. Granted, it was one of his toughest subjects, since they were cramming 1 ½ years worth of lessons into each year, but he didn't mind. It really was as fascinating as Hermione had always made it sound, and since it was her favorite class she was always extra-eager to help.

But finally, the trio joined the other Defense NEWT students outside the classroom waiting for their first lesson with the new Professor Lupin. Right on time, the door began to open – only to hit Tonks' foot and slam back shut. This was immediately followed by a muffled curse that students normally didn't hear from their Professors. When the door opened a second time, Harry noticed that she was standing well off to the side with no chance of a repeat.

Tonks appeared just as she had opening night, as a younger version of her mother (and Aunt Bella, although Harry was getting very good at ignoring that little fact). Her appearance shouldn't have surprised him; she'd 'worn' the same look every day at every meal as well. He had finally decided that she must be keeping her morphing abilities a secret, an opinion Hermione wholly agreed with when he'd voiced it, but in such a way that he knew she was really saying 'well, obviously'.

"Welcome all … come in, come in," Tonks encouraged until everyone had found a seat. "I'm Professor Lupin, as you should all know." Six hands immediately shot into the air. "And no, I am not your first Professor Lupin's sister." Four hands went down. "Nor his sister-in-law." Another hand went down. "Nor am I he in drag," she huffed, and the final hand dropped. "I am his wife. And now that we have that all cleared up, let's get down to business. I am a fully trained Auror, on active duty for the last two years before I was asked to come here and teach you lot. I _will_ prepare you for what is ahead, of that you can be sure," she asserted. Most in the class probably thought she was referring to their NEWTs, but Harry rather suspected she meant the inevitable battle.

After a quick review of last year's progress she had them put their books away and stand on their desks. Yes, _on_ their desks. Their first lesson was to learn to defend themselves while moving, thus, the _on their desk_ part. Each student was to try to disarm the Professor while they were jumping off their desk - something they only got one shot at accomplishing, since jumping took all of three seconds. Any student who managed to successfully catch her wand was excused from that night's homework assignment.

Few were surprised that Harry had Tonks' wand on his first try. Hermione had come close in her two tries, but each time she hesitated before she lept, giving Tonks time to shield herself. "You're hesitating a smidge," Tonks corrected her, "you're thinking too long before you make your move. If I was a Death Eater, you'd already be dead."

Ron managed to disarm Tonks mid-jump, but couldn't catch her wand. As the essay assignment was handed out, he tried to argue that he should only have to do half the essay, since he'd achieved half his goal. He was rewarded with a second essay on classroom etiquette for his efforts, and was grumbling under his breath as he left the room. Harry caught Tonks' eye and gestured toward his grumpy friend while winking, earning him a great smile.

Over dinner that evening, Ron started in on the unfairness of his essay.

"Well, really, Ron," Hermione said in full-on lecture mode, "you were rather disrespectful. I mean, you would never have spoken to Professor McGonagall in such a familiar manner."

"But … it's Tonks," Ron reasoned. "I mean, I've seen the woman wearing a pig's snout for a nose. I've heard her and Lupin going at it – it's really not fair that my room was just below theirs – and you expect me to just pretend we don't know each other? That's like asking Fred and George to leave Percy alone, that is."

"Ron!" Hermione admonished, in the loudest whisper Harry had ever heard. "You did not just comment on our Professor's sex life, did you?"

"Yeah mate," Harry cut in, finally joining in the discussion, "remember how that topic worked out for you last time?"

Unfortunately, Seamus had heard this last bit and he was quick to ask. "What's this about Professors and their sex lives? Know something you want to share with the rest of us, Weasley? It's not that old rumor about Dumbledore and McGonagall is it, 'cause unless you have something new to add, that's just old news."

Harry couldn't help his blush, and had to duck his head even as he wondered how the other boy had known just what Harry had been referring to, at least indirectly.

Ron took a second to contemplate both Seamus' question, and Harry's response, and decided revenge was in order. "Well … and this is second-hand mind you … but I have it on good authority that the Headmaster once had to have a certain talk – you know the one I mean – with a certain student," and here he shifted his eyes briefly to his blushing friend in an obvious manner before turning back to Seamus, "who didn't have a father to give it to him. From what I understand, it was quite awkward for H—er, the boy."

By now, Harry had figured out what Ron was about, but there was nothing he could do. If he silenced his loud-mouthed, no-longer-best friend, the others would take it as proof that what Ron was saying was both about him and true. But if he let him continue, there was no telling the damage that could be done.

In a falsely hushed voice, Ron shamelessly continued, "Rumor has it the old man had to explain the proper time and place to wank to the poor schlump."

Harry had his wand in hand and had just decided on the perfect curse, when Ron suddenly shrieked and jumped from his seat. Standing in the aisle, he did a strange little jig that involved hopping from one foot to the other while flapping and patting his robes and letting out little high-pitched shrieks and several choice curse words, earning the attention of the entire hall in the process. Only those close by could hear him mumbling about spiders as he began to twirl around in an attempt to see his own backside. Harry looked to Ginny, but for once the innocent look on her face seemed genuine.

Beside her, however, Hermione was enjoying the show entirely too much. Catching Harry's eye, she asked, "What? I warned him not to discuss the Headmaster like that."

Ron finished his private dance by backing into a hard body, and turned to find Professor Snape standing behind him, arms crossed and snare in place. "So lovely of you to provide the evening's entertainment, Weasley. Perhaps you would be so kind as to follow me to the trophy room, where I am certain we can put that excess energy to a far better use."

Six years had taught Ron not to argue back in such a public forum, and with a longing look at his forgotten pudding he meekly followed his professor out of the hall.

"Hermione," Harry said, in a manner that was somewhere between an accusation and a plea.

"Don't look at me like that, Harry. He brought it on himself. Or did you want me to let him continue his rumor-mongering with the boys?"

"No … no, I didn't want that. But, detention with Snape?"

"Well, I certainly didn't plan for that to happen. But … I'm sure there have been times when a detention was probably deserved, but he didn't get one. So we'll just call this poetic justice."

"In other words," Ginny was kind enough to explain, "he really shouldn't have been talking out of turn like that, the git."

Nearby, light snickering could be heard, leading Harry to believe that Neville had followed the entire exchange. Thankfully, Seamus and his lot had tuned out around the time Snape had appeared. Waiting for Hermione to divert her attention, Harry lobbed a roll at the laughing boy, landing perfectly in his gravy with a satisfying splash.

"Hey," Neville cried, "I wanted him to stop as much as you did. Or did you forget that you're not the only one that didn't have a father to give you _The Talk_? Those idiots might have thought he was talking about me."

Harry could appreciate the sentiment, but somehow he doubted anyone had thought Neville was the subject. And sure enough, by the time he'd arrived in the common room, he was already noticing strange looks and hushed conversations as he walked by. The activity – which Harry was sadly used to by now – carried on the rest of the evening, to the point where Harry finally slammed his book shut, wished the girls a terse goodnight, and stalked up the stairs.

It wasn't until he was ready to climb into bed that Dean finally broke the silence. "So, Harry … we hear you were having a hard time _handling things_ and the Headmaster had to sort you out."

_Whoosh._ The pillow slammed into Dean with lightening speed, knocking the smirk right off his face. But that's when the out-right laughter started.

By dinner time Friday, Harry was certain he'd heard the phrase "hands on training" more times in that one day than Snape had said "arrogant like your father" in the previous six years. Then there were the many variations to the "Headmaster's favorite" theme, and how could he miss the "Head Boy" references? His favorite by far (not that he'd admit he'd found any of them amusing) was Terry Boot's surprisingly original "did he explain all about how it dies and then comes back to life?", which was actually kinda funny – if it was being said about anyone else, that is. The only thing that had kept the Ravenclaw from being hexed to bits was his insistence that he'd been talking about the Headmaster's phoenix.

Deciding to skip the Great Hall, or more accurately, the student body therein, he headed up to the private rooms to dine with Albus. He breezed into the Headmaster's office on his way to their sitting room when a noise to his side stopped him in his tracks. Turning, he found his guardian – the same one that was supposed to be on bed rest for another two days – standing behind his desk, sorting through a stack of correspondence.

"Ahem," Harry loudly cleared his throat.

"Ah, Harry. Is dinner over already?"

"No, everyone else is still eating in the Great Hall. But I thought I'd keep you company for the night. Only what do I find? You're supposed to be resting."

"And rest I shall," he assured the boy with a wave of his hand, even as he continued to sort the letters. "After dinner. But Minerva has been spending her every free moment in here, keeping me from getting any work done. And when she's in class, she has house elves reporting to her if I step a single foot into my own office." He finally turned his attention away from the letters and fully to Harry, continuing with an open smile. "But alas … they have to return to the kitchens for meals … and she has to take my place at the Head table … and poor me is left all alone, with nothing to entertain myself for a full hour. After twiddling my thumbs for a good five minutes, I decided my time could be put to better use here."

Harry couldn't fault the logic, and was rather impressed with Minerva's dedication to the cause. But the man needed his rest. "You're supposed to be resting," he repeated, as if he thought saying it again would make the man listen. It was funny, really, how much raising a guardian was like raising a small child.

"And you're supposed to be in the Great Hall," Albus counter, peering over his glasses, "not hiding up here so as not to hear any more innuendo regarding your sexual education."

"Fine then," Harry wisely decided, "you can stay. But would you at least sit down so Minerva doesn't get too mad at me?"

An hour later, said Deputy-Headmistress returned to the office to find the two seated together at a table near the fireplace, sharing a rather large serving of Custard Tart and laughing over Fawkes, who appeared to be trying to gain the attention of a certain beautiful female owl, who in turn was pointedly looking away from her feathered friend.

"Why am I not surprised to find that neither of you can follow even the simplest of rules?" she asked, not even bothering to wait for an answer as she moved around the duo so that she was behind Harry. "You," she said, leveling her gaze down on Albus, "are supposed to be in bed recuperating … and you," she continued, turning the sternest glare at Harry, "are supposed to be in the Great Hall with your friends dodging all those private tutoring offers you've been receiving."

'_She did not just go there.' _Harry turned to gawk at his teacher, thinking that now would be an excellent time to find out how it felt to be petrified.

"I am surprised Miss Weasley has been able to refrain from hexing any of those girls for this long," Minerva smoothly continued. "I may have to award her points for showing remarkable self control."

A house-elf popped into the room to clear away the dirty dinner dishes, effectively ending the teasing and earning itself a personal thank you from the great Harry Potter. The elf bowed deeply, and continued to do so as he backed away from the group, before popping away._  
_

Now that the tabletop was cleared of dishes, Minerva politely leaned over Harry's shoulder to see what Albus had been working on. She shifted several pages around, 'tsking' at some as she shot dirty looks in Albus' direction. "Helping the Minister draft proposed laws is not taking it easy, Albus. You are supposed to be resting body, magic, and mind."

She continued to look over the papers, and although Albus tried his best to make excuses, Harry could tell he was only digging the proverbial hole deeper. Not wanting to be caught in the middle, Harry slowly and cautiously moved his chair back until he was well clear of the adults. Hedwig, who'd turn cold toward Fawkes for some undiscovered reason, flew over and rested on his knee.

A loud knock on the partially-opened door was their only warning before another Professor invaded the office.

"Headmaster, I must speak to you concerning Minerv–ahh," said Sybil Trelawney, coming to a quick halt before back treading, though luckily the office door behind her kept her from falling over. "Oh …Minerva, I was under the impression that you had a detention to supervise."

"Filius was kind enough to take the detention so I would be free to catch up on some paperwork," Minerva replied coolly, "but surely you expected to see me here?"

Trelawney nervously pulled her shawl tighter to her body as she straightened up and shuffled her feet. She didn't move any closer – Harry was sure she was as intimated by McGonagall as any First Year. "The Inner Eye," she moaned out, in the voice Harry was familiar with from class, "is not to be used for such mundane tasks. There are more important happenings that demand my attention."

"Yes, I can see how your pronouncement that the kitchen must serve chicken on Sunday was earth shattering," Minerva reasoned.

Harry laughed at Minerva's little joke, unknowingly bringing himself to Sybil's attention. "Ah … Mister Potter … I am not surprised to see you already in the Headmaster's office. Such trouble that finds you ... circling you like vultures circle a dead carcass on a lonely stretch of road. How you find the strength to continue on year after year after year is beyond me. I have seen much of your woefully short life in my gazing. _Death_ … _disease_ … _danger_ … _destruction_ …"

"Perhaps you should turn your dictionary to a new page, Sybil. I am sure you could find some wonderful nouns that start with the letter E."

"Now Minerva," Albus gently chided, "we must maintain professional etiquette in front of the impressionable student."

Harry was certain that Minerva's response would have been one to remember, but she never got a chance to speak, for a deep, throaty voice sliced through the room. Knowing what he would see – dread already turning his blood to ice – he nonetheless turned to look at his ex-Divination professor, who was standing stiff and staring straight ahead, a vacant look on her face.

"_It will be done before the New Year ends. The Light One will find what he has lost, and the Dark Lord will be destroaaah_—"

The scream ended with a groan as Trelawney landed face-first on the floor. The office door which she had been standing in front of had been flung open, pushing the witch to the ground. Seeing the woman on the floor, a professor Harry only recognized from mealtimes came to an abrupt stop.

"Oh my, so sorry Sybil, but perhaps you shouldn't stand in front of the door. Minerva, you're needed right away. There's an outbreak of Scrofungulus in the Hufflepuff dormitories. Poppy wants to quarantine them in the dormitory – says there's too many for the hospital wing – and Pomona has her hands full dealing with cranky First Years. They need help sorting out where to put the healthy students."

"Tell Pomona I'll be there right away, Charity, and if you wouldn't mind could you help her calm the young ones? I trust you've had the anti-potent?"

"Oh yes … I'll see what I can do." And with the briefest nod to Albus, the woman Harry now recognized as the Muggle Studies teacher left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

"Oh dear," fretted Trelawney. "When my tea leaves warned that I should remain in my tower all weekend, I should have realized the danger. It is fortunate that I keep, ah, medicinal potions in my study. If you will excuse me … Minerva, Albus … I shall remove myself to the safety of my tower." She made a hasty retreat, obviously concerned about contracting the horrible disease and wanting to get to those medicinal potions, and totally forgetting the complaint she had wanted to file.

Minerva watched the Divination teacher leave, a look of disbelief clear on her face. "Honestly Albus! It's bad enough when she sees death omens every time someone spills gravy on the tablecloth, or claims she missed the staff meeting because voices warned of serious injury if she went. But to make up a prophecy to scare a student is simply unconscionable."

"My dear Minerva," Albus began calmly, "did it ever occur to you that perhaps, in this particular instance, the prophecy is real?"

"No," she said, snorting. "I'd more likely believe that Severus awarded house points to Harry."

"Then perhaps you'd best sit down," Albus gently cautioned, "For Severus awarded Harry a single house point the evening of the Welcoming Feast, and … unless I have completely misread the situation – and I highly doubt I have – we have just had the honor of hearing dear Sybil's third true prophecy."

Seeing the disbelief on her face, Harry hastened to add, "It's true, Professor. She made one back in my Third Year, about Pettigrew returning to his Master and helping him rise again. And that very night, I found out the real story of my parent's betrayal … and Pettigrew escaped and helped Voldemort get a new body, just like she'd predicted."

She blinked twice, looking between the two. It as obvious she still didn't believe, but she knew that for some reason, they did. "Very well, Harry … it seems all you have to do is find something you lost." She took a quick look around the room, her eyes finally resting on a small ball wrapped in dirty paper setting on the corner of nearest table. "How about that Dungbomb? Did you by chance lose it? Or … I think I have a Gryffindor scarf that was left in my classroom. Did you lose that? Perhaps we should just show you to the Lost and Found and be done with it. Why, this whole war could be settled by bed time."

"Minerva," Albus interrupted. "I believe you are needed elsewhere," he kindly reminded her.

"Of course," she agreed, moving toward the door. "I expect to find that paperwork just as unfinished when I return as it is now, Albus."

When the door was safely shut behind her, Albus shifted in his seat to face Harry. "Minerva's kidding aside, I do believe we should discuss this latest prophecy."

"Yeah, the blo—ooming dingbat! Why do all her prophecies involve me in some way or another? I don't know how many more I can take. Please," he suddenly begged, "can't we have her vocal cords removed, like Muggles do with dogs that bark too much. If she can't talk, she can't mess with my life, right?"

"An interesting suggestion, Harry, but something I suspect she would not consent to undergo. But I do not believe that this prophecy is one to fear. Quite the opposite … it appears to be in our favor."

Moving to the cabinet behind his desk, he removed his pensieve and placed his memory of the prophecy in it. With his wand, he replayed the words several times, until he had it memorized. Sitting back in his chair, he stroked his beard as he contemplated their meaning.

"Yes, good fortune indeed," he murmured, mostly to himself. Louder, he asked, "Did you hear how it began, Harry? _'It will be done before the new year ends.'_ Not the calendar year, I shouldn't think, for we are no where near January first. Yet the prophecy being spoken now indicates that the new year is either just around the corner or has just begun. And so it has … a new _school year_ … yes, that fits quite nicely."

Harry sat up in his seat, stroking Hedwig's feathers absently, quietly allowing Albus to work out the puzzle.

"The Light One … an obvious reference to you – I think even Peeves could figure that one out. An interesting title you've been given; light being the opposite of dark, just as you are Voldemort's opposite. Yes … it appears you _are_ once again the object of Sybil's affection, just as you so elegantly pointed out." Chuckling at his own joke, he leaned more comfortably in his chair as he thought some more. "The remainder does seem rather clear cut. For all her sarcasm, Minerva actually had the right of it. You find something you lost, and somehow, that leads to Voldemort's destruction. Oh, if only it were that simple."

"It sounds too easy," Harry offered. "I wonder what else she'd have said if she hadn't been interrupted."

"That is the crux of the matter, Harry. Remember the damage done by Voldemort when he acted without knowing the full contents of the first prophecy? Although, I suppose it is possible that there is no more … that Sybil was speaking the last word."

"Nah, her other prophecies end with a little recap of sorts. You know … _born as the seventh month dies_," he intoned, in his spookiest voice. "She likes to repeat herself. There should have been at least one more line, I think."

"Right you are, right you are. For all we know, there was a limiter or disclaimer that was lost." But then Albus grew quiet; if he had any ideas, he was keeping them to himself.

"So," Harry started, breaking the silence, "what do we do?" His voice startled Hedwig, who's dozed off under his gentle massaging. With a soft hoot, she spread her wings and flew out the window.

"Do? Harry, I don't think we do anything. At least, not anything in answer to this. We must learn from Voldemort's mistake – unless you are interested in wandering the earth as a bodiless spirit for eleven years?"

"Ah, no. I think I can live without that. But … do you suppose there's one of those little glass balls in the Department of Mysteries? Maybe we could go retrieve it and find out what's missing."

"An excellent thought; but no. I believe that any recording is going to contain the prophecy exactly as it was given. If Professor Trelawny didn't speak it, it would not be recorded."

"Well," Harry tried to reason, "if it wasn't spoken, and it wasn't recorded, then logically … it isn't part of the prophecy, and we don't have to worry about it."

"Miss Granger would be quite impressed with your deductive reasoning, and from what I gather given her opinion of Divination, quite likely to agree with it. But I am of the opinion that such an assumption would be unwise. And I like to think that my opinion carries just a wee bit more weight than hers."

"Fine, fine, we don't do anything," Harry reluctantly agreed.

"Well, mayhaps I misspoke. We don't actively do anything, certainly. No treasure hunts at Privet Drive, for instance. But we do keep our eyes and ears open, and we do pay attention. And if you do indeed find something you thought lost, we shall examine it for any possible connection to defeating Voldemort."

"So if I lose my toothbrush, and then it shows up under the sink … that's going to tell us how to defeat Voldemort?" Harry asked in a tone that told how little he believed such a scenario.

"Who knows," Albus countered. "Perhaps Tom has a hereto unknown fear of dental care."

Harry would have had a smart response, but he could see that Albus – for all he claimed he was fine – had been slouching further and further into his chair as they spoke. And now that he looked more closely, he could see Albus fighting to keep his eyes from drooping shut. He stood from his seat and moved over to stand next to Albus' chair. Gently pulling on his arm, he coaxed, "come on then, before you fall asleep where you sit and the Professor has us both in detention for a week."

Much to his surprise, instead of fighting the action, Albus rose from his seat. "Too right you are," he agreed. "I suppose my paperwork can wait until Minerva is at breakfast." Walking together, with Albus pretending he wasn't leaning on Harry, and Harry pretending he wasn't supporting Albus, they made it to the private sitting-room-turned-sick-room. Albus seated himself on to the bed, and Harry helped him remove his bunny slippers so he could get under the covers.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Harry stayed a bit longer, and the two discussed nothing more serious than tomorrow's breakfast menu. When Albus' eyes drifted shut, and this time stayed that way, Harry gently rose and took his leave. Passing through the Head's office, he found Minerva perched behind Albus' desk, writing furiously. With a quick goodnight to her, he returned to Gryffindor tower where he gleefully learned that fourteen year old Jimmy Peakes had been caught alone in a broom cupboard by Flich, effectively moving the ridicule target from Harry to him. Remembering that awkward age, and knowing how it felt to be the House's whipping boy, Harry caught his eye and asked, "Did you forget to invite your date?"

He was, after all, still a teenage boy.

By the end of the week, Harry was exhausted. Sure, classes were keeping him busy, but he was also dealing with a recuperating guardian and his own feelings of guilt and inadequacy regarding Albus' injuries. He hadn't explained how he felt to his friends, but they knew. They made it their personal mission to spend the weekend together, either working on homework, talking Quidditch strategy, or just hanging out. At some point he'd let something slip, and he'd been compelled to share the new prophecy with them. (Hermione, he often thought, could guilt a Slytherin into confessing.) They'd talked the blasted thing to death before finally coming to the same conclusion Albus had – that it was best left alone.

Albus' bed rest had been extended another week, as Madam Pomfrey felt he just wasn't bouncing back as quickly as he should. Of course, she probably believed he was resting, instead of sneaking into his office at every available moment. Or maybe she did know that … because _someone_ charmed his slippers so they couldn't enter the office. And try as he might, he'd been unable to remove the spell.

Harry suspected that the charm wasn't really on the slippers, but was on the rug right in front of the door. Stepping on the rug could trigger a reaction on the slippers which was awfully close to a charm Professor Flitwick had mentioned in passing. And the fact that Albus hadn't come to this conclusion on his own was evidence, in Harry's opinion, that he wasn't back to top form. He reasoned that when Albus finally figured it out, he was ready to go back to work.

Climbing into his bed Sunday night, Harry hoped this crazy week hadn't been an indication of how the entire school year would go. He hoped; but somehow, he didn't believe.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** The chapter title was meant to refer to Trelawney's third prophecy. But if you've been reading my profile page, you know that I ended up writing parts of this chapter 3 times – making the title prophetic. Note to self – do not use 'eight is enough' as a chapter title.

My sister once had a friend who swore her cat and her rabbit were getting funky together, and thus the Cabbit was born. Only Luna can explain the significance of the bushy tail.


	26. Progress and Pity

I do not own the Potter named Harry;  
nor James or Lily, nor Albus or Mary.  
'Who is this Mary?', I hear you all say.  
A long "lost" Aunt who once was named Ray.

**.**

**.  
**

**Chapter 26. Progress and Pity**

"I know we've only been back two weeks," McGonagall loudly called out, garnering the class's attention, "but I had expected better results. This spell is no different than the sculpting spells we worked on last year. Two feet on how these spells are related, and another two on the importance of remembering what we have previously learned, to be handed in at the start of our next class. Now, before you all leave, I happened to find this quill in the hall." At her place behind her desk, she was holding up a dirty gray quill with half its feather missing and the tip broken off. "Mister Potter … did you by chance lose this?"

The entire class seemed to turn to Harry, who was awfully embarrassed to be asked about a busted-up quill. "Er, no Professor, I don't think I've lost any quills."

"What about this button," she asked, now holding up a small shiny thing, "it was near the quill. Did you lose this?"

"No, Professor … no lost buttons that I'm aware of."

"Pity," she sighed.

Harry quickly finished packing his things and rushed out of the room, leaving his laughing friends behind. He was looking forward to relaxing in the common room before dinner.

Transfiguration had signaled the end of the second week of classes, and things had settled into a hectic pattern for Harry and his friends. In addition to school work, Harry had Head Boy duties, Quidditch to oversee, Battleball for stress relief, and a stir-crazy guardian to soothe - and that was before his personal training was restarted. There were Prefect duties for Ron and Hermione; Ron and Ginny also had Quidditch; and Hermione, Ginny and Neville were working to get the DA up and running again.

A few times, as Harry listened to the others making plans for Dumbledore's Army, he felt a pang of jealousy. It was ridiculous, he knew, to feel that way. After all, his private tutoring was by top Order members in magic far more advanced than the fire-spitting charm Hermione was planning to teach.

The first of his private lessons for the year would be with one of his favorite Lupins on Sunday. To prepare, Remus had sent him a thick book full of tiny print titled A Counter for Every Curse, along with a short note stating it would help him with their training session. So when he escaped from Transfiguration on Friday he cuddled with Ginny on a sofa, leafing through the book. He was certain didn't really contain every counter-curse in existence, no matter what the introduction had claimed.

Ginny burrowed closer to his side, causing him to lose his place for the fifth time. Giving it up as a lost cause, he chucked the book onto the nearest table and wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. He'd have been perfectly happy to stay that way, but the sudden weight of the cursed book landing in his lap brought him back to the present.

"You'll fail your training if you don't study," Hermione chided as she dropped into a seat on his other side.

Not touching the book, he turned his head to face her. "There are seven hundred and forty-nine spells in that book. I could read non-stop from now until Sunday morning and I don't think it would help. It's not like there's a written quiz, Hermione, it's definitely practical."

And his prediction was dead-on. Arriving at the Shrieking Shack on Sunday morning, he'd barely crawled up through the trap door when he was hit with a hair growth jinx that hid his face behind a curtain of black in seconds.

By the time he'd countered that, Remus had managed to extinguish all the lights in the room, tie his shoelaces together – he discovered that two seconds too late – and probably hit him with another spell. He wasn't sure of that last one; he didn't feel like he'd been cursed, but he'd swear he felt something impact his back as he'd tripped on his own feet.

From his place sprawled across the floor, he quickly considered his options. He kicked off his shoes as he rolled to his knees and decided a little protection was in order. 'Protego,' he tried to shout; but what came out instead was "_GrrrrRarrr_!"

Beyond shocked, he reached up and rubbed his throat with his left hand. "_Rrreerrr?_," he softly growled.

He was so caught up in his vocal deficiency that he didn't even react as his wand was pulled from his hand. Not by magic; oh no, it was neatly tugged from his hand by the man standing behind him.

"Give up, Harry?" Remus asked.

For a split second, he thought about making a grab for his wand, or maybe biting the man … but he knew that by the spirit of the exercise, he'd lost. "Yip," he agreed.

"Lumos," Remus called out before reaching out to give Harry a hand up. "Finite Latratora," he added.

"You know," Harry said, smiling as he heard his own voice again, "I really don't remember anything in that book that would counter barking spells or shoe laces tied together. I thought you said that book was supposed to help."

"And so it would have, had you used it correctly."

"What do you mean, use it correctly? You couldn't seriously expect me to read the whole thing."

Remus began to chuckle. "You could have hit me in the head with it. A book that thick is bound to do damage. Alternate thinking, Harry. That's what you'll be working on today. Tell me, if I had used the Body Bind Curse, what would you have done?"

"I'd have dodged, and then probably tried to stun or disarm you."

"In other words, you would have known how to react. But what did I do instead? I tied your shoe laces together. You never saw it coming – didn't notice it until it was too late. It was totally unexpected, and therefore, it worked."

"I get it. But what was that barking?"

The older man's face split into a wide grin. "Latratorium is a little spell your Godfather liked to play with. It changes the vocal cords so instead of speaking, a person barks. You can imagine the many uses he put it to. One good use, though, is to stop an opponent from being able to say spells. If left alone, it can last anywhere from 4 to 8 hours. Now, the incantation is 'Latratora' and it is accompanied by a flick and slight twist of the wand … no, no, more like this … that's it ..."

It ended up being one of the easier spells he learned that day. The point, Remus stressed again and again, was to make doing the unexpected second nature. That sounded all well and good, but Harry rather suspected it would be hard to remember in the heat of battle.

When their lesson ended, Remus invited Harry to relax and join him for Butterbeers and chocolate.

"This is nice, Remus," Harry commented as he sat back, enjoying their small talk. "But don't you have a pregnant wife you should be rushing off to?"

"Ah … no. I'll let you in on a little secret, Harry." Although they were quite alone in the shack, Remus looked around to assure no one was listening. "Pregnancy can turn the most loving woman into a hag."

The two laughed at the joke, until eventually Remus cleared his throat to get Harry's attention. "I do have another reason for keeping you. I need to ask you something rather personal, and I hope you don't mind the intrusion."

"Not at all," Harry responded, a bit concerned about what was coming.

"You see Harry, Albus knew about my marriage to Dora the same day it occurred, which wasn't really that much of a surprise. Very little gets past that man."

"Don't I know it," Harry agreed.

"Yes … but what did surprise us was Arthur Weasley also knowing about our marriage." He shot Harry a meaningful look, before continuing. "My wife is a very able Auror, Harry. It wasn't too hard for her to figure it out, once she took the time to really consider the matter. Someone had to have gone to Gretna Green themselves, and then told both Arthur and Albus about our names on the register … someone who would have had reason to speak with both of them that same day … someone who was, say, trying to deflect attention away from themselves?"

"Ginny and I aren't secretly married, if that's what you're getting at," Harry protested. "But … it was a close thing," he admitted, "and … sometimes I think we should have just gone ahead and done it. What if I don't …" he trailed off.

"I understand," Remus replied, and Harry could tell that he really did. "The responsible adult in me wants to tell you that you did the right thing by waiting. But I have to tell you, being married is better than I ever imagined. Werewolves aren't usually so lucky in love. And now, with a baby on the way … I never thought my life would turn out so wonderful."

"Yeah … that's sure to make me feel better," Harry grumbled.

Remus chuckled as he patted Harry's knee in a fatherly fashion. "You and Ginny are young, Harry. It would be a mistake to let Voldemort dictate your lives and rush you into things you aren't ready for. There will be plenty of time for marriage and babies later. Of course, if it really concerns you," he slyly added, "I hear Muggles have ways to insure future procreation. I believe all it takes is a little effort on your part … and a cup, of course."

-000-

When Harry was younger, his class had read a story wherein a character believed in six impossible things before breakfast. For some reason, that phrase had always stuck in his mind, probably because impossible things happened around him quite often. Except, in the Dursley household impossible equaled magical, and magic wasn't real, so he wasn't to say such nonsense. So it became 'six strange things'; and as a child he often believed that strange things happening before breakfast were a good thing – an omen, if you will.

Thus, Monday promised to be a good day, as three strange things had already occurred, and he had yet to eat his eggs. It started when he entered the Great Hall and took his normal seat, giving the Head Table his customary glance as he did so. And then he did a double take, his eyes flying back to his guardian, who was dressed in eye-popping robes of electric purple velvet adorned with fringe – _fringe_ – of navy blue, complete with a matching pointy hat.

Albus caught Harry's eye and raised his glass to his boy, a genuine smile playing across his face. Now, Albus attending breakfast in the Great Hall wasn't the strange part; unexpected yes, but not strange. No, the strange part was that just last night, Albus had shown Harry a picture of those same robes in a catalog, and Harry had joked that even Albus wouldn't be caught dead in robes that gaudy.

Shaking his head – he knew Albus had worn those blasted things just for him – he turned his attention to a squealing to Ginny. She and Ron were reading a letter together, but being the faster reader, she'd already gotten to the (presumably) good part.

"Harry … Dad's been promoted! Can you believe it? He's going to be in charge of a new department – a_ real_ department," she clarified, "and he'll be the Head."

"Thanks for spoiling the surprise," Ron mumbled, having not gotten that far in the letter. Which was perfectly understandable. Ron always took eating more seriously than reading at the breakfast table.

"Oh, that's great," Hermione gushed. "What's the new department?"

"It's called Office for the Families and Relatives of Muggleborns in Need of Information, or OFRMNI. It's his job to keep in touch with Muggle families of magical children. Partly, it's to give them a way to contact our world, and it says something about informing them about our laws so they're less likely to break the Statute of Secrecy."

"I bet it's also a way to keep track of them," Harry reasoned. Dropping his voice he continued, "you know, in case Voldemort attacks them, or anything. It makes sense, with the war."

"Exactly what I was just thinking," Hermione agreed. "Otherwise, the families of Muggleborns could just disappear and we might not even realize it. I hope there are protections in place so Death Eaters can't steal their files. Does he say anything else?"

"Well," Ginny explained, "the letter's from Mum, so it doesn't go into much detail. Just that it's definitely a move up – way more prestige, and I would imagine better pay, not that Mum says that."

"Nah," Ron added, having finally finished the letter for himself, "she'd never say it like that. She just says they're going to celebrate with dinner at The Floating Lantern. She's always wanted to go there, but they could never afford it before."

"Oh, and he's hardly going to be at the Ministry anymore," Ginny continued. "He'll have an office in London and another in Glasgow, both in Muggle buildings, so he'll have to work on his Muggle wardrobe. He'll love that."

"Makes sense," Hermione reasoned. "If he's primarily dealing with Muggle families, he needs to be accessible to them."

"It's strange though," Ron added, "I never thought Dad would give up his job in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Too many Muggle gadgets to play with, and Mum couldn't say a thing about it."

"True," Hermione agreed, "but now he gets to work in a Muggle office, around Muggle technology. He'll have to have a telephone, and maybe a computer, too. It'll be so exciting. I'm really happy for him. Maybe I can get my Dad to help him figure out how to use everything."

"Would you?" Ginny asked.

"Sure. I'm sending him a letter anyway – I forgot to pack my dress robes, and even though the Ball isn't for months, I want him to send them to me. Don't want to wait until the last minute, after all." Strangely, she was looking at Ron as she added this last bit.

Smirking, Harry had to ask, "So … does that mean you've got a date for the dance, Hermione?"

"No," she said, turning toward Harry, but glancing back to Ron. "Nobody's asked me yet."

"Huh," Ginny said. "What about you Ron? You have a date yet?"

"No, I haven't asked her yet," he replied without thinking.

Harry and Ginny shared an evil smile, before she asked, "Oh? And who exactly haven't you asked yet?"

What happened next was strange to say the least. It was hard to say if it was truly an accident, or if he'd done it on purpose, but Ron had become so flustered by the question that he somehow managed to drop his fork into the pitcher of pumpkin juice. He pulled his wand and summoned the fork, but put a bit more force into the spell than necessary, somehow managing to make the pitcher rise from the table and shatter, drenching everyone sitting nearby.

Hermione screamed as the juice reached her Arithmancy homework, which she'd set on the table earlier. Parvati was screeching about needing to get the sticky mess out of her hair, and Seamus was cussing Ron out for his carelessness, costing Gryffindor ten points.

Ron's mini-meltdown aside, Monday had indeed proven to be a good day. Harry earned twenty-six points in his various classes, Quidditch practice with the new team members went well, and even better he and Ginny managed to sneak off together when it was over. And best of all, the prudish witch was missing from her portrait, allowing them to celebrate in a most enjoyable fashion.

They even made it back to their Common Room two hours after curfew without incident, and without Ron noticing. Yes, a good day indeed.

The rest of the week went equally well, even Double Potions on Wednesday. Granted, for Harry Potions always went well since Snape pretty much ignored him these days. But this particular class went even better than most. It had started normally enough, with a rather boring lecture on potions that are not consumed. The most common types were salves and pastes, Professor Snape explained, adding that they should already know this, as they had made many over the years.

"But there is another class of Potions; those that are inhaled," he continued. "The Board of Governors dictates that I not teach these potions until your final year, supposedly since prior to this age, you lack the finesse required to handle such delicate brews. This of course implies that you now possess such skill, an opinion I do not share as I have yet to see any such proof from any of you."

"Personally, I feel this branch of Potions is saved for your final year because you are all now adults, and can therefore be held responsible for any damage you do to yourselves and your fellow students. And make no mistake – one of you _will_ do significant damage. Someone always does." He swept his beady eyes from student to student, making each one squirm in their seats.

Even Harry didn't escape the man's gaze of doom, and for the first time in over a year, he felt that Snape was speaking directly to him. _'Good thing Neville's not here.'_

"Inhalants are rare in the magical world, but I am told that they are still widely used by Muggles. Can anyone tell me which inhalant was recently added to the Ministry's Restricted Potions List?" Not surprisingly, Hermione's arm was the only one to shoot into the air. "Anyone who hasn't already answered more than five questions for their professors today?" Hermione's arm dropped.

For once, Harry was sorry he couldn't answer. Being friends with Fred and George had its advantages.

"I thought not," Snape smirked. "The answer is Garroting Gas. An invisible gas that will knock anyone unlucky enough to inhale it unconscious. And before you delinquents get any ideas, it is a highly complex potion that I doubt any mere student could manage to brew successfully. The reason it is strictly controlled should be obvious, even to you lot. We _will not_ be brewing it in this class."

"However, your education would be incomplete without learning at least one inhalant, so today we shall be attempting a _lovely_ little potion called Doxycide."

Years of listening to Snape allowed Harry to hear what wasn't said – namely, that Snape felt this potion beneath study. No doubt Snape would have much preferred to teach the harder, more dangerous Garroting Gas.

"But Sir," Hermione interrupted, clearly unable to stop herself, "isn't Doxycide a topical potion? Isn't it absorbed through the skin?"

"Five points, Miss Granger, for speaking out of turn," Snape automatically snapped. "And thank you for finally proving you do not, in fact, know everything. Perhaps it is best that I am the one teaching after all, yes?" He paused, savoring the moment, before addressing the class in general. "While it is true that Doxycide can be absorbed, it is most potent when inhaled by the little pests, thus making it an inhalant. Now, if no one else plans to interrupt … no? … then we may begin."

Snape turned and waved his wand at the board, making directions appear, which was a perfectly normal action on his part. But apparently the strangeness from earlier in the week wasn't quite done, for Snape next behaved in a very un-Snape-like fashion. He turned back to the class and smiled. Well, not exactly smiled – on anyone else it certainly wouldn't qualify as such – but based on the slight twitching at the corners of his mouth and the lack of malice in his eyes, he was trying.

"As you have no doubt deduced," he said, without any of the venom that normally fills his voice, "this potion requires two brewers, meaning you must be paired up. Choose your partner wisely, for you must work together and you will earn the same grade. As this class has an odd number of students, I must … _ask_ … Mister Potter to partner with someone to spare me the pain of having to work directly with one of you dunderheads." By the time he was done speaking, Snape was staring directly at Harry.

For one tiny second, Harry thought he'd somehow been transported to another universe. Had Snape just asked him to do something? Instead of ordering? That was it; he was seriously going to have to talk to Albus about the possibility that Snape was being possessed … or impersonated … or maybe had become addicted to some strange drug that changed a person's personality.

"I was expecting an answer, Potter. A simple 'yes Sir' would suffice, or is such a complex sentence beyond your capabilities?"

"Yes Sir," Harry slowly responded, only just stopping himself from giving a cheeky answer. "I'd be glad to work with Hermione." _ 'Or maybe years of spying have led to a split personality.'_

Not wanting to give Snape a chance to change his mind, Harry quickly moved to Hermione's table and started setting up while she retrieved ingredients. The two fell into an easy partnership, working together with little trouble. The same could not be said for Terry Boot and his partner Ernie Macmillian.

While Harry and Hermione had a smooth navy blue potion bubbling softly, the two boys had a mess that was threatening to boil over. Translucent bubbles the size of a man's fist were slowly rising from the cauldron while thick green goo splattered onto their work table. Boot tried to clear the mess with his wand – oblivious to Snape's shouted "no" – but instead of vanishing, the bubbles exploded, releasing tiny drops of the botched potion into the air.

Before Harry could even register what had happened … before Snape could cast Bubble-Head Charms on the nitwits … the two breathed in the smelly green gas. Harry wouldn't have even known they had done so, except he was quite certain that neither normally sported long, fang-like teeth, nor were their necks and hands supposed to be covered in thick black fur.

Harry tried his best, really he did, but he couldn't stop himself from looking sideways at Hermione. "You were much more adorable covered in fur."

Thankfully Snape was nearby, and Hermione was forced to spare his life. The two finished their Doxycide in decent time, turning in a vial of ink black liquid that they were sure Mrs. Weasley would have gladly used.

Yes, the entire week seemed to be enchanted as one good thing after another happened for or around Harry. Thursday, for example, Ron had a slight stomach ache, which normally isn't considered a good thing, except that Harry was finally able to have as many apple tarts as he wanted. And Friday, while Harry was visiting Hagrid, the larger man received a surprise invitation from his sweetest Olympe to visit over the winter holidays.

Saturday morning a very happy Harry headed to his family quarters for breakfast with his guardian. This was a celebration of sorts. Although Albus had been back to work all week, he'd been officially given a clean bill of health just the day before. After a delicious meal of scrambled eggs and five different types of bacon, the two settled back and talked about classes and Professor Sprout's new haircut and the high cost of colored ink until eventually the topic worked its way to more important matters.

Handing over a small piece of parchment, Harry explained how Hermione had come up with the idea that they should make a list of possible Horcrux hiding places.

"Mmm … so I see," Albus absently responded as he looked over the list. "Many of these are places I myself have considered. But … St. Mungo's – that's one I certainly hadn't thought of, although I can see its appeal." Looking up he explained, "Many people consider Hogwarts the safest place, but in its entire history, the hospital has never been attacked – not once. Even Hogwarts cannot boast such a history."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "that's exactly what Hermione was thinking."

"Well, a few of these can be crossed off easily enough. The Hogwart's Express, for instance, is thoroughly searched before and after each run. And the Hog's Head, while an interesting theory, lacks a direct link to Tom. You will recall he was not present when the prophecy was made. I'm not even certain he either knows or cares _where_ the prophecy was made. But … his father's grave … now that is one I had truly never suspected."

"It fits in a way, though, don't you think?"

"How so?" Albus asked.

"Well, it's where he performed the ritual to get himself a new body."

"True; but it is also where you escaped him for the … third time, was it?"

"Four if you count the Chamber," Harry corrected. "But if you think of the grave specifically, he actually used his father's bones in the ritual. He literally wouldn't have a body today without that grave. Plus, wasn't that his first murder? Or at least, the one we think he used to create his first Horcrux? That certainly sounds special to me."

"I see your point," Albus finally agreed. "Although, due to its close proximity to the ring's hiding place, I still find it unlikely. However, as it should actually be one of the easier places on this list to search, I see no harm in doing so. Would you be horribly upset if I asked you to sit this one out, and perhaps once again enlisted young William's help? Searching graves is, after all, a specialty of his."

Harry quickly agreed. He really hadn't wanted to check that particular place anyway, which Albus had probably guessed.

"Excellent. And perhaps while we are in the neighborhood, we'll take another peak at the Riddle House. I searched it, of course, after I learned of the murder of Frank Bryce, but as he most certainly returned to the area at least once after that time, it is not too hard to imagine he has made other visits."

"Fine with me," Harry was quick to say. He'd just as soon never see that entire area again. "Just … make sure you're careful, alright? I have a feeling his traps are going to be even nastier than before."

Albus wholeheartedly agreed as he went back to perusing the list. Noticing a sensitive location, he softly asked, "Had you given thought to your former home?"

"I don't think I want to search that one either. How about if you give it the once over, and if you see anything suspicious, we can talk about it. I still want it torn down, you know. Maybe we can take care of both at the same time?"

"I do so recall, and assure you its demolition is in the works. However, given this new theory, I will get more personally involved," Albus assured him.

"While we're on the subject," Harry said, "there was one other thing I wanted to mention. Hermione had this idea about … ah … saving the Horcruxes."

Albus' eyebrows rose in surprise. "And why, pray tell, would anyone want to save a Horcrux?"

"No," Harry quickly corrected, "not the Horcrux as in the whole thing, just the actual object, you know, the outside part."

"I think you'd better try to explain yourself more clearly, Harry."

"It's like this. Hermione hates the idea of destroying Hogwarts relics when there are so few remaining. And I agree with her, I guess. And we were thinking …you know how Voldemort was able to remove the sawol from Nagini? Well … Hermione wants to see if we – and by we I mostly mean her – can find a way to do the same. So … when we find the cup or the locket, we don't want it destroyed right away."

"You want me to keep a piece of Voldemort's soul lying around?"

"Well, I wouldn't have phrased it quite like that, but yeah, that about sums it up. But," Harry added, seeing that Albus looked skeptical, "it's not like it would be unprotected. I'm fully confident that you could find a safe place to stash it."

"I certainly appreciate your confidence in my abilities. Not to sound immodest, but I like to think I am at least as capable as your average Dark Lord – not that I would ever lower myself to his levels of depravity, but as Minerva has often pointed out, I _could_, if I so desired. It is our morals, Harry, not our abilities that separate us from the Tom Riddles of the world."

"Yeah, yeah … _choices_," Harry readily agreed, hoping to avoid that tired topic. "So, what do you choose? Are you going to do the easy thing and destroy priceless relics, or are you going to give us the chance to save them?"

"Throwing my own words back at me, Harry?" Albus questioned, a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps you _have_ spent too much time in my company."

Harry chose not to respond, seeing as Albus was now stroking his beard in thought. Instead, he walked over the Fawkes and stroked his feathers, earning a light cooing sound. "Seen Hedwig lately, boy?" The phoenix seemed to shake his head sadly in response, and Harry found himself wondering what was going on between the two birds, but his musing were cut off by Albus' voice.

"I have to be honest, Harry. I have my reservations. Moving the sawol from one vessel to another would be dangerous to the spell caster. You may recall that Voldemort did not perform the spell himself; no, he all but forced Pettigrew to perform it. What kind of father would I be if allowed my child – or any child – to risk their eternal soul just to save a trinket? Not a very good one, I should think. And yet … I admit I find myself as distraught over the destruction of our relics as yourself and Miss Granger, enough so that I cannot dismiss your request out of hand."

He waited as Harry retook his seat before continuing, "I offer this compromise. There are three Horcruxes unaccounted for. I agree to safely store any we find until we have collected all three, giving you and Miss Granger time to find a safe means to move the sawol. But, if you have not found a solution by the time the final Horcrux is located, they will all be destroyed together."

Then, if possible, he seemed to get even more serious. "If at any time I believe that Voldemort is on to our search, any Horcrux we possess will be destroyed immediately. If at anytime I feel that any Horcrux we possess has been compromised, or poses a threat to our safety, it will be destroyed. In other words, I retain the right to change my mind and destroy them at any time. In exchange, I will allow Miss Granger – and yourself, of course – free access to all books in the restricted section as well as my own personal library, and I will make myself available, should she have questions or need clarification during her research. Is this acceptable?"

Truth be told, Harry had expected a simple 'no', so he readily accepted the deal. "Hermione will be very happy – she lives for research, I think. Of course, this whole plan hinges on us actually finding another Horcrux. I mean … the list is a great start but … I can't help but think that we're grasping at ashwinders. We were so close to the locket, and that proved to be a dead end. Literally," he added, shuddering as he remembered their run-in with deceased Malfoy.

"All that trouble," he continued, "for a fake." With a harsh laugh he added, "a fake so obvious, even Bill knew it wasn't the right locket … and he didn't even really know what we were looking for – only that it was something connected to Hogwarts. He even joked with me that the one back at Headquarters was more what he'd expect from a Founder."

"The one at Headquarters?" Albus asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yeah, we found this junky old locket that first summer, when Molly was on her cleaning frenzy. Ugly thing, too, as I remember … just what you'd expect from the Blacks … had a snake on it and everything. We were going to chuck the thing because nobody could o…pen… it …," his voice faded. He locked eyes with Albus and cried, "_OH NO_ – it … it can't be!" He jumped from his seat and began pacing. "_Tell me_ there hasn't been a Horcrux safely tucked away at Headquarters all this time!"

"Harry," Albus urged, his body at full attention, "I want you to recall the locket you are speaking of … focus on a memory of it … and let me see."

Harry did as he was told and seconds later he felt the soft intrusion into his mind of a skilled Legilimens. Breaking eye contact, Albus announced, "I think a quick trip to Headquarters is in order."

"Great – let's go," Harry enthusiastically agreed.

"Oh no … not one of us," Albus replied. "I should doubt we could sneak in and out without the notice of Molly Weasley, who would no doubt riddle us with a multiple of questions whilst lamenting our lonely existences and trying her hardest to feed us a meal to rival Hogwarts' own – all out of love, of course."

"Well, in her defense, I've heard love is a powerful weapon."

"And so it is," Albus chuckled. "But in this instance, I would prefer we avoid such loving hospitality. I was thinking there might be another who could retrieve the locket for us."

"You mean, like asking Bill to get it for us?"

"I was thinking someone shorter, with a bit less hair."

Harry thought for a moment, "oh, I get it. Kreacher!"

With a pop, the ancient elf appeared in the room, bowing as he spotted Harry. "Master called?"

"Yes, Kreacher. I have a job for you. I need you to go to Grimmauld Place and retrieve a locket. I think you know the one – it's the one we were going to throw out, but you saved it. I put it on the top shelf of the display case."

Instead of rushing to do the job, which had become his normal response, he seemed frozen in place. "New Master wants … wants Master Regulus's locket? Master Regulus told Kreacher to take care of that locket." He turned and ran full-out into the nearest wall, his thin little body bouncing off and landing on the floor.

Harry looked to Albus, and saw that he was thinking the same thing - that Regulus, the Death Eater who had cold feet, who was supposedly killed by Voldemort himself, was their thief.

Oblivious to the others, the elf had sat up and bowed his head as he continued, "Kreacher can't, Master Harry. Ask Kreacher for anything else," he begged from his place on the floor. "Kreacher will give you my poor, dead Mistress' wedding picture … or great Master Orion's snuffbox … but please leave the locket."

Moving to kneel next to the elf (and taking hold of his hands to keep him from twisting his toes), Harry tried to comfort him while still insisting he obey. "Kreacher … I think I understand. Regulus asked you to protect the locket. I get that. But the thing is," he delicately tried to explain, "that locket is the probably the reason Regulus was killed. You see, he stole it from Voldemort."

That certainly got the elf's attention, and he sharply turned his head to look at Harry, disbelief clear on his face. "Master Regulus didn't like the Dark Lord," Kreacher confessed in a quiet voice. "He told Kreacher he had made a mistake. He had found out something horrible about the Dark Lord. He—he wanted out, he was telling Kreacher."

"I'm sure he did," Harry agreed. "And that locket was his key out. It needs to be destroyed Kreacher. I'm sure that was his plan. He'd have done it himself if he'd survived."

"Yes," the elf finally agreed, "it is what he wanted. But Kreacher couldn't bring himself to do it. And now, it is all Kreacher has left of young Master."

"Kreacher," Harry implored. "I'll make you a deal. You bring me the locket, and I'll take you to Gringotts. We'll go through the Black family keepsakes together and you can find yourself a new reminder of Master Regulus. There's bound to be something there that belonged to him." Glancing back, Harry saw Albus nod in approval.

The change was instantaneous. Kreacher didn't even respond. He just popped out of the room, returning about a minute later with a heavy silver locket dangling from his thin fingers. 

Harry thanked him for his help as he carefully took the locket. _'Maybe if I'd known it was silver and not gold, I'd have realized sooner.'_ He walked over to Albus's desk and gently placed the Horcrux right in the middle of the desk. Behind him, Kreacher, sensing his job was done, left with a pop. The two wizards were quiet for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts as they gazed at this troublesome piece of Tom Riddle's soul.

"Where will you keep it, Seba?" Harry finally asked.

"Oh, I have a few places in mind," Albus assured Harry with a wave of his hand. "You'll find I can be rather resourceful when required."

"But not in a mirror, yeah?"

Feigning innocence, Albus countered, "But it worked so well the first time."

"Sure it did," Harry readily agreed, "so well that a First Year figured it out."

"Yes, well … by that same token apparently my pensieve is out."

Properly put in his place, Harry tactfully changed the subject, claiming he trusted the Headmaster's judgment. He moved back to his seat, but found his eyes returning to the cursed object of their own accord. He was certainly relieved they'd found this Horcrux – he'd been sure it was lost forever. But at the same time, he couldn't help but remember the task was far from complete.

And how did Trelawney's latest surprise factor into everything? If she was to be believed, this war would end before the school year was over, which could only happen if all the Horcruxes were destroyed. And he found what he'd lost, apparently.

"Hey," he said as inspiration struck, "I just realized … it's kinda like I lost the locket, don't you think? 'Cause, you know, I went to get it from the cave, but it wasn't there. And now I've found it, so could this count as finding what I lost?"

Albus sighed, resigning himself to having this particular conversation many times over this year. Minerva had been cornering him with everything from knuts to potion bottles to a half-eaten tomato and cheese sandwich. Calmly, he asked, "When you first discovered the locket while cleaning at Grimmauld Place, did want to keep it for yourself?"

"No … we tried to throw it away, actually," Harry admitted. "It was Kreacher that saved it."

"Disposing of an item is not the same as losing it, Harry," Albus explained.

"But when I found it later," Harry argued, "I kept it then. I picked it up and put it back on the shelf."

"And was it from that same shelf that Kreacher retrieved it?"

"Well, yeah. I assume so."

"Than it wasn't lost," Albus reasoned, sounding very tired for some reason. "It was merely forgotten."

"Oh … pity."

**** end chapter ****

**Notes: **So there's Harry's 'doh' moment. In my mind, he actually smacks himself on the forehead; but it seemed too cliche, so I refrained. I know in Rowling's world the authentic locket was gold, but doesn't silver make more sense - silver is the Slytherin house color/metal; gold was Gryffidor's. Which do you think Sal would have used?

Before Arthur's new job has you all thinking 'disaster waiting to happen', allow me to remind you that he's the Head of the Department, so he will not be the primary contact person. That's what subordinates are for. He will, however, crash three computers in his first week.

New spell: Latratorium, from Latrator meaning a barker, like a dog (I think; my e-translator of choice is no longer available). Incantation is 'Latratora'. It changes the vocal cords so instead of speaking, a person barks. If left alone, it lasts about 4 to 8 hours. Counter is 'Finite Latratora'.


	27. The Messenger

So, my copy of Goblet of Fire was sitting out last night, and I thought, 'what the heck' … I picked it up and checked. It still says it was written by someone else. I guess that magic wand I bought off ebay (_for the kids, I swear!_) wasn't so magical after all. Dangnabit!

.

.

**Chapter 27. The Messenger**

_=parseltongue=_

With the locket Horcrux safely tucked away in the Headmaster's office, Harry enjoyed a brief upswing in his outlook. He certainly wasn't alone; as September gave way to October news from the outside world was mostly positive, making everyone's (excluding evil mini-minions) spirits soar.

Headlines screamed things like "Umbridge Erased" and "This Minister Rejects Malfoy Gold" as Minister Bluestreak repealed some of the nastier laws the duo had pushed through in recent years. Werewolves, for example, found it far easier to find legitimate work, meaning Remus was now an official employee of the Hogs Head instead of just a nice guy helping out. It changed very little, but Harry knew the distinction was important to his furry friend.

Bluestreak also reversed an obscure law that gave obscene tax incentives to Purebloods who married other Purebloods – basically paying them for continuing their prejudice. "Call me a romantic, but I believe one should marry for love, not tax incentives," he'd said in his speech announcing the change.

Dementor attacks were on the decline, which Harry attributed to two things. First, big advertisements in the papers and posted around Diagon Alley offered free Patronus Classes every Sunday in the Ministry Atrium, and word had it they were usually full. Second, there had been two well-publicized cases of Dementor carcasses being found, thanks to the American OSU training five Ministry Aurors (plus Kingsley) to deal with the wild Dementors.

Even the Muggles were happier, as strange explosions and bizarre so-called natural disasters in their world had decreased. They, of course, had no idea this was because Voldemort had grown quiet.

That's not to say that Voldemort was inactive. Just this past week, a lovely family of five was destroyed when the father, an experienced medi-wizard, disappeared on his way to St. Mungo's, and reappeared two days later on the campus of the University of Dundee – minus a few key body parts. And closer to London, a rash of unexplained fires, all starting amidst strange wind storms, were being blamed on arsonists. The police had no leads. But then, all witnesses had been Obliviated; it wouldn't do for them to claim the blazes were the work of fire-breathing dragons!

In Harry's personal life the news was mixed. On one hand, Harry's last round of medical appointments had been rousing successes. First, Dr. Tony had decided that Harry could stretch his appointments out to every two months, a move Harry felt was well deserved and well past due. He hadn't tried to bite Ron's head off in a very long time – a few weeks at least! And really, he credited that to being able to sleep peacefully and vent his frustrations during Battleball more than anything else.

Physically, Pomfrey had given him a clean bill of health in his monthly check-up. His stomach was still intact and hole-free, which he felt was always a good way to be. His Ventris Inner-erosion was showing no signs of recurrence, although he'd still have to take his monthly potion just to be safe. She'd sent him out the door with a harsh warning that he'd best not be back before his next scheduled checkup.

Those were all good things; but there was depressing news as well. By this time Albus had exhausted the list of possible hiding places Narcissa Malfoy had given him. If Bellatrix Lestrange had hidden the Lestrange fortune, and with it the Hufflepuff cup, she'd done a good job of it. Harry, predictably, had been disappointed (to put it mildly), but Albus remained optimistic that the cup was only a search or two away.

Another dead end Horcrux-wise had been the house in Godric's Hollow. Albus had spent an entire day going over the house under the guise of checking it over before its demolition. He'd put as much effort into it as Snape did looking for students out after curfew. Which is to say, he'd searched room by room, from floor to ceiling, using magical and muggle means … and declared the place Horcrux free.

That's not to say he'd come away empty-handed. No … for although the house had been emptied shortly after the murders, a few things had been left behind. Mostly, the items were inconsequential – a broken coffee mug, an old shirt so dirty and torn Harry couldn't even guess whose it had been, and a small book with patches of fuzzy mold all over its cover. Harry had tossed the lot. There was also a partially used roll of toilet tissue. He wasn't certain why Albus had brought that back, but he planned to give it to Fred and George.

But there was one little treasure. In the darkest corner of an upstairs cupboard Albus had found a small stuffed animal. A jet black and sunflower yellow bumble bee that rattled when shook. It had been dirty, and one of its antenna had clearly been chewed, but Albus had convinced Minerva to clean it up for Harry.

Flopping it around in his hands, Harry wondered aloud, "A bumble bee? Who'd buy a kid a stuffed bug?"

With a stern look, Albus chided, "A bee is an insect, not a _bug_. And I thought it was a very fitting gift."

Quickly realizing his mistake, Harry tried to backtrack, "And a nice … er, insect it is, too. All fluffy and yellow and … antenna-ey," he lamely finished, giving it a flip so its wings flopped.

"Perhaps you think a Foe-Glass was a better Christmas gift for a five month old? I believe that was Alastor Moody's gift."

"No," Harry chuckled, decided that Albus was likely telling the truth on that one. He gave the bee a shake, listening to its rattle. "It's nice." He smiled as he ran his fingers over its fur and then fingered the lightly-chewed antenna. "You know … in a way—"

"No Harry," Albus practically shouted, cutting Harry off. "You didn't lose it; and I would be ever so grateful if you would stop trying to turn every item into something you lost. Minerva is bad enough. Just yesterday, she tried to convince me you had lost an earring. Honestly, it's giving me a headache."

Nodding his agreement, Harry was about to ask more about his first Christmas when the chiming clock reminded him he needed to go. It was the first faux-Hogsmeade weekend where vendors from the village were setting up tables in Greenhouse Five. Harry had arranged to meet his friends at 11:00 in front of the library so they could head out together.

He arrived five minutes late to find Ron and Hermione already waiting. Looking around them, as if they were somehow concealing his girlfriend, he missed the amused look on Ron's face.

"You might have better luck seeing behind me if you balance on your toes – you know – make yourself a bit taller."

"_Ronald_!"

"Don't '_Ronald_' me, Hermione. I can't help it if the guy's short."

"Better short than stupid," Harry fired back.

"Oh, so now I'm stupid?"

"I never said you, Ron, but I think it says a lot that you automatically assumed I meant you," Harry replied.

"Of course you're not stupid, Ron," Hermione assured him, "you're a perfectly average student. And you, Harry, aren't short so much as … not as tall as you could be. I mean," she carried on, obviously trying to find a way out of the hole she'd made, "most men are short compared to Ron. Now, what do you say we get going?"

Harry almost argued, but must have thought better of it for instead he asked, "What about Ginny and the others?"

"Ginny had to run back to her dorm and freshen up," Hermione explained. "She was turning a corner and she swears Mrs. Norris tripped her, and she fell into Filch's abandoned mop bucket. She said she'd meet us at the front door. And I don't think Neville and Hannah are coming. I overheard them fighting earlier."

"Yeah … they stormed off in opposite directions. I don't think we'll be seeing either of them today," Ron helpfully added.

"Then we might as well go before Mrs. Norris finds us," Harry joked. They left the area talking and laughing as they started their trip to the bottom of the castle. They were headed toward the tapestry hiding the narrow spiral staircase that would take them two floors down when Theodore Nott rounded the corner.

At first, the lone Slytherin moved to the side as if to safely pass them, but when he was about even with Harry, he side-stepped closer, using his arm to block Harry's passage and causing all three to come to a halt and turn to face him. Ron, who had been leading the way, was now off to Harry's right while Hermione was standing close to his left arm.

The Slytherin seemed both taller and broader than Harry remembered; but then, Harry didn't normally get quite this close to the other boy. Showing no fear, Harry casually took a step back (although that was mostly so Nott's pungent breath wasn't in his face) and crossed his arms in a casual manner.

"Potter," the Slytherin sneered, ignoring the other two completely. "I have a message for you. My father says he's looking forward to seeing you again."

Hermione's loud laughter stopped any retort Harry would have made. "Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?" she questioned. "Not a very good one, is it? I mean, for all we know, your father's looking forward to having dinner with Harry."

"Yeah, Nott," Ron added. "Did Malfoy leave a script lying around the Common Room? 'Cause that's the type of insightful stuff that normally came out of his mouth. Honestly … Harry's house-elf comes up with better threats than that."

"Hey," Harry shouted, although he really wasn't sure if he should be offended or not. Ron shrugged in reply, and Harry just nodded. After all, Ron did have a point.

Nott, unsure as to why Harry wasn't quaking in fear, leaned closer in an attempt to intimidate him. "Father's not the only one looking forward to seeing you."

Instead of responding to him, Harry gave a little cough and waved his hand in front of his face to clear the air before turning back to Hermione. "I see what you mean. It does rather sound like they want to date me, doesn't it?"

Turning to the steaming Slytherin, he sighed, "Sorry … I'm sure you're trying your best, but I just don't feel properly threatened. Would you like to try again? I think we've got a bit more time before we have to be anywhere."

While Harry had been talking, Ron had been moving. He'd stepped three feet to the right, positioning him just on the edge of the Slytherin's peripheral vision. This not only allowed him to pull his wand unobserved, but it would give him a great angle of attack, if it came to that.

Meanwhile, in response to Harry's taunt, Nott growled menacingly.

The Gryffindors, now perfectly positioned to defend themselves, and now all firmly armed, were not impressed. Maybe if the idiot had thought to pull his wand, or had brought others with him as Malfoy always did, they would have been slightly less confident. But he hadn't, so they weren't.

Standing just behind and to the side of Harry – where her wand arm was perfectly hidden from view, incidentally – Hermione spoke up. "Why don't we show you how it's done?" Chin held high, she coolly said, "if you mess with us … if you mess with our friends … there won't be enough pieces of you left for Daddy to bury. Except maybe an eye, found floating in the boys' toilet … or a finger in a jar in Snape's office … or maybe your wand, shoved up the Giant Squid's behind."

"Now that's a threat!" Ron enthused.

It's hard to say if things would have escalated. As it was, Professor Trelawney choose that moment to turn the corner and by silent agreement, all four students high-tailed it out of the area. Looking back at the disappearing robes, Harry laughed along with Ron over the incident, but another, perhaps more mature, part of his mind acknowledged that Nott definitely needed to be watched.

They met up with a perfectly fresh Ginny in the entrance hall and waited their turn to be checked out by Filch. Arriving at Greenhouse Five, they found a bustling crowd winding around the booths. Honeydukes' booth was set up directly inside the door, and you couldn't miss it if you tried. It was decorated with bright yellow flags which were flapping as if in a brisk wind. There were spinning pinwheels and candy-shaped balloons and what seemed to be a dancing monkey. It was also buried by students swarming the tables, grabbing up all sorts of chocolate-covered goodies and novelty treats. They looked to already be running low on several items, and the bazaar had only been open for an hour.

Hermione refused to stop, claiming it wasn't worth fighting the mob. Instead, she made a beeline for the mostly ignored booth across from Honeydukes. The plainly decorated booth, with its neatly displayed selection of quills and parchments, was practically deserted. They dutifully purchased their school supplies, Harry surreptitiously paying for Ginny's, before the group decided to split up.

Ginny was dragging Hermione over to Gladrags' circus-like canopy, twittering on about the Yule Ball and comfortable shoes, and the boys seemed relieved to see them go. Neither was particularly interested in that conversation. Now on their own, Harry wanted to check out the Dervish & Banges booth while Ron wanted to double back to Honeydukes. The ensuing debate was interrupted when Luna Lovegood stomped on Ron's foot.

"Sorry Ronald," she calmly said as he hollered and hopped around. "I certainly didn't mean to hurt you, but I didn't think you'd spotted that invisible fire-moth crawling across your foot. Their bites can swell, you know."

Ron looked like he was about to say something when Harry gave him a non-too-gentle tap on the arm and stepped in front of him. "Thanks Luna. I bet he'd have never, er, seen it until it was too late."

"No problem, Harry. Have you met my boyfriend, Colt Whitby? Colton, this is Harry Potter," she said, gesturing to him unnecessarily, "and the boy turning red is his friend Ronald. He frequently turns that color."

Colt, a clueless looking Hufflepuff, mumbled something that sounded like "need meat to chew", although Harry was sure it was supposed to be "pleased to meet you". He was short, maybe equal to Harry's height, but where Harry had filled in over the years, this one still seemed thin as a stick. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and it hung limply down to his collar. His hazel eyes, which were hidden behind oval glasses, kept looking furtively in Luna's direction, giving Harry the impression that he wasn't completely sure when he'd become her boyfriend.

"Well … Colt," Harry began, starting to get a funny feeling about the boy, "It was nice to meet you, but I'm afraid we have to be running, right Ron?" he finished, turning to his friend for confirmation.

"Oh yeah," Ron agreed, once he'd stopped staring between the other two boys, "we've got to get over to Zonko's … research for Fred and George, ya know."

As they made their escape, Harry glanced over his shoulder and watched Luna take her boyfriend by the hand and lead him toward the frilly pink and white corner of the greenhouse where Madam Puddifoot's had set up tables for couples brave enough to snuggle in public.

The boys finally found Hermione and Ginny in front of the food cart being run by The Three Broomsticks, although to Ron's disappointment Rosmerta was nowhere in sight. They snacked on a strange brown meat with a sweet, buttery flavor that was served on a stick, which Harry quite enjoyed, despite not knowing what it was. Harry bought a round of Butterbeers, wondering what Uncle Abe would have served if they'd been able to go to the village. He hoped the old man was alright and that Remus was taking good care of him.

Tossing their empty bottles into the nearby bin, the four checked out a few more booths before finally giving in to Ron's demands to stop at Honeydukes. Several knuts later they called it a day and headed outside, where Ron and Ginny's suggestion to go flying won out over Hermione's suggestion to work on their Charms projects.

The next evening wasn't quite as fun; there was an Order meeting. Members spaced their arrivals over a half hour, although Harry had a feeling the twins had arrived early and made a few deliveries. He'd found them lurking in a hallway on the wrong side of the castle and goaded them into following him to the meeting. When they arrived, he chose the empty seat between Tonks and Hermione. Ron was on Hermione's other side, seated next to Bill.

Other red heads were scattered among the usual members, but Harry's favorite was absent. Ginny had earned herself a detention for feeding a Canary Cream to Mrs. Norris, and was spending the evening shining trophies.

Tonks was in the middle of a joke about a vampire and a politician, oblivious to Molly's evil eye, when Albus finally made his entrance. "I apologize for the delay," he said in lieu of a greeting. "I ran into Severus on my way here, and he informed me he shall miss most, if not all, of tonight's meeting."

Harry wasn't surprised by the announcement. In the past few weeks, word had spread around the school that Theodore Nott was recruiting; sounding out those from pureblood families, using vague words and flowery imagery that meant he stayed just on this side of trouble. Harry wasn't supposed to know, so of course he did, that Snape had taken it upon himself to steer Nott away from the more susceptible students. This meeting coincided with Nott's favorite recruiting time, thus Snape's absence.

"As luck would have it," Albus continued, "Severus has already made me aware of certain facts, which I shall do my best to convey to you, but please keep in mind that I may not be able to answer all of your questions."

Those seemed to be the magic words, and all hushed conversations dropping away as everyone in the room settled down to listen.

"Severus was able discover that Pimmy Jalmer, the medi-wizard whose remains were found in Dundee, was killed for daring to refuse an offer to become personal medi-wizard to the Death Eaters. From this, we have theorized that Voldemort is expecting a significant increase in the number of injuries to his followers."

"More injuries meaning more battles?" Bill wanted to know.

"Possibly more battles. Or perhaps just one battle, but on a much larger scale," Albus replied.

Based on the murmuring around the room, no one liked the sound of that.

"Which do you think it is, Sir?" Hermione asked, but it was clear by the nodding heads that several others had wondered the same thing.

"I believe … as do both Severus and Kingsley, that Voldemort is unhappy with his recent failures. He tried to have me eliminated, and failed. He tried to put his own man in as Minster and he failed. We feel that he will attempt one of these two again … and he will do so on a much larger scale, no doubt believing that greater force will win the day."

Albus looked determinedly around the room, allowing his words to sink in. Something about the moment … be it the seriousness of the message, or maybe the solemn look on Albus' face as he spoke, or even the eerie silence that fell on the room at his calm announcement … something reminded Harry of a grainy old black and white news reel he'd watched once in primary school. It had been a speech on the state of the war. That message, like Albus', had been an unwelcomed truth.

Kingsley cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "From what we've been able to gather at the Ministry, You-Know-Who is amassing … well … foot soldiers, I guess you would call them. His new recruits aren't the brightest, nor the best by any stretch of the imagination. Many of those we've been able to identify are either dropouts or they never attended a magical school in the first place."

A chill ran down Harry's back. "Like Stan Shunpike?"

"We think so, Harry," Kingsley sadly agreed. "We know Shunpike was unmarked when he was rounded up by Scrimgeour, but he was tentatively identified after a recent attack near London. And really, he's the ideal follower. Magical enough to use a wand, hates the Ministry, and stupid enough to believe that Voldemort will have his back in a fight. That's who he's going after now, and thanks to Fudge's incompetence and Scrimgeour's over-zealousness, his fishing pond is well stocked."

"So what do we do?" asked someone in the back.

Albus stepped forward and responded. "We will continue to protect Hogwarts and her students, and trust Minister Bluestreak to do the same for the Ministry."

"And we be prepared … be ready to fight," Hermione said with conviction.

"And we get others prepared, too," Ron added.

Others agreed, and soon the conversation turned to planning. Minerva organized those members who volunteered to patrol the school, especially during the remaining 'Hogsmeade comes to Hogwarts' days and Quidditch matches. Remus offered to drop in to DA meetings from time to time to help teach new spells. Kingsley would work on having the public Patronus classes expanded to also cover some basic defensive techniques.

The plan Harry liked the best, however, came from one of the twins. "We've been working on a trick or two that are triggered by proximity to the Dark Mark. We hope to be ready to start selling them by December at the latest. There's one that gets hung over the door, like a banner, and when anyone with the Dark Mark walks though the doorway, it causes the mark to attract anything wooden. You know, picture frames, bookends, doors, furniture … if we're lucky the handles to your best knives. It should all come flying right at 'em. It's not perfected yet, and testing is a bit difficult, but we think it's close."

Even Molly couldn't hide her amusement.

Toward the end of the meeting, when most of the larger group had broken into smaller sects and conversations were starting to turn to more personal matters, Harry felt a light tapping on his shoulder.

"Why don't we head back to my office, Harry. One never knows who one might meet on the way."

'_Translation – let's go find Snape.'_ Nodding his agreement, Harry told his friends he'd meet back up with them in the Common Room. They made their way back to Albus' office quickly, and to Harry's un-surprise, Snape was rather impatiently waiting when they arrived.

"I need to make this quick, Headmaster," Snape immediately explained. "I suspect that Mister Nott is keeping tabs on my time spent in your company. He was hiding at the bottom of your stairs when I arrived. Luckily for me, I know a few tricks he does not."

"Right to it then, my boy," Albus replied, pointing Harry toward a nearby chair.

"I have information I am unwilling to share with the general group," Snape said. "As you may recall, the Dark Lord ordered me to find a long-forgotten potion. A difficult task, as the potion has no known name. It is known only by its description: Endless Slumber. Either I was not the only follower looking, or the search was simply some test I failed; in either event, a book containing detailed notes on the potion was recently given to me."

Turning his cold black eyes to glare at Harry, he continued, "Based upon the ingredients, I am certain he is correct in his assessment. The potion will enable him to incapacitate you on a nearly permanent basis."

"Well, that nearly sounds lovely."

A loud sigh filled the room. "I am being serious, Potter. But if you'd rather spend eternity as the Dark Lord's favorite doorstop, who am I to stand in your way?"

"Boys," Albus cut in.

Instead of answering Albus, Harry turned his attention back to his professor. "My apologies, Sir. I know you're trying to help me. It's just … his plans get old, ya know?"

"If you think his plans get old, Potter, you should try his idea of discipline some time," Snape quipped, before adding, "apology accepted."

Knowing that was as good as it would get, Albus got the conversation back on track. "What can you tell us about the potion, Severus?"

"It is an inhalant, but unlike any other I have dealt with. It never leaves its liquid form. It is applied to a piece of cloth, which is held over the victim's mouth and nose, forcing him or her to breathe in the potion when they draw their next breath."

"Like the Muggles used to use?" Harry asked. At the confused looks, he explained, "they had this stuff, and it worked basically the same way. A long time ago it was used to knock out a person before surgery, but normally, they would wake up afterwards."

"Well then," Snape replied, "that is where this one would differ. This puts its victim into a sleep-like state, but they will not awaken without an antidote, be it two days, or two months, or two years, or two decades, or –"

"I get it," Harry interrupted, "if I breathe it in, I don't wake up. Unless good old Tom gives me the antidote … and that's not very likely to happen, is it?"

"No Harry," Albus replied, "I dare say it is not."

"Would I at least have a fighting chance," he hoped aloud. "Would there be time after it's administered for me to get away before it knocks me out?"

"You do remember what I previously said about the Dark Lord's enthusiasm upon your capture, Potter?"

"Tortured to insanity first – right. So, no escape then."

Looking to Snape, Albus asked, "Anything else you can tell us about this potion, Severus?"

Turning back to the Headmaster, Snape replied, "Two things, actually, although one is not so much about the potion as it is about my role in its making. I have been given the honor of brewing the potion for him, which I find unsettling. While I am perhaps his most gifted Death Eater when it comes to potions, his own ability is certainly not lacking. He could easily make this potion himself, and in fact, given its importance, his paranoia should have demanded he do so. The fact that he wants me to do it in his stead has me convinced it is a test of my loyalty."

"He will test the potion," Albus surmised.

"And if it is found lacking …" Snape trailed off.

"No fear, Severus, I would not ask you to turn over a faulty potion. Doing so could be dangerous not only to you, but also to any innocent victim forced to take the potion. How much does he want?"

"Half a dozen vials, to be ready to turn over post haste."

"Post haste?" Harry asked.

"Dark Lord speak for 'instead of giving you a dead line, I will simply call you one day and expect you to have it completed'."

"That's messed up."

"Quite."

Once again, Albus found himself playing the skipper and getting the conversation back on track. "The other thing, Severus?"

"I have been told not to seal the vials; that the Dark Lord himself will add one final ingredient. Obviously, this is a concern. As it stands, the potion will fulfill its purpose by causing endless slumber without death. What possible purpose could be served by adding anything to it? Certainly, the list of possible additions is relatively short, as most common ingredients would cause death to the end user due to the anticoagulants in the vampire bat saliva already in the potion."

"I am confident you will figure it out, Severus," Albus assured the man, "and in the mean time, you'd best concentrate on completing the potion. You will of course work up the antidote for us?"

"Of course," Snape quickly replied, and Harry had the impression he'd been expecting the request. "If that is all, I really must be going. Headmaster … Sidekick," he said by way of farewell.

Harry stayed only long enough for Snape to clear the stairwell before he headed out himself. He arrived at the Common Room to find Ron and Hermione speaking to Ginny, probably filling her in on the meeting. He headed to his girlfriend's side, and was rewarded with a quick peck on the cheek as she grabbed his hand in hers.

"Thank goodness that's over," Ginny exclaimed. "I can think of about five hundred better ways to spend a Sunday. Oh – but you won't believe what I found. Harry … Riddle's award … it's still there."

"No way," Ron replied, "still? You'd think Dumbledore woulda got rid of it after we proved Hagrid was set up."

"Oh Ron," Hermione chastised, "that's not the point. Or have you forgotten what we think that award was used for?"

Ron thought for a moment. "Oh … OH … blimey, we need to go check that award."

"Wait a minute," Harry cautioned. "Ginny, you didn't touch it, did you?"

"No way," Ginny assured him. "Even if we didn't think it might be a _you know_, I wouldn't have polished his award. I did spit on it though, but nothing happened."

Relieved (and a bit amused by Ginny's confession), Harry led the way through the portrait. They nearly ran over Neville, who was coming in as they were leaving. Hermione offered a quick apology, but they were gone too fast to hear if it was accepted. They made it from the seventh floor to the third floor quickly, and Ginny guided them straight to the award.

The gold shield-shaped award was exactly as the boys remembered, although the trail of spit running down its front was definitely new. Reaching out slowly with his hand, Harry tried to feel traces of magical residue that would indicate charms or curses on the piece. When he couldn't detect anything unusual, he held both hands out and closed his eyes as he concentrated.

There was an immediate tingling in his fingertips, and after a few minutes Harry recognized the anti-theft and anti-graffiti charms Uncle Abe had taught him over the summer. It felt like they permeated the entire area, which thinking about it, he realized they probably did. He wiggled his fingers, and thought he could feel where a nearby plaque had been broken and repaired. But Riddle's award could have been a piece of driftwood for the lack of magic emanating from it.

Sighing, he took a deep breath and tried again. This time, he reached out not to the award, but to the castle. When he'd been looking for the tiara, he'd allowed himself to be wrapped in the comfortable warmth that was Hogwarts' magic, and then had isolated the contrary feelings – which lead him directly to the Horcrux. It had worked perfectly then; but this time … there was still a comfortable warmth, but the only negative emotion he could feel was from right outside the room; a manic glee that could only be Peeves.

"It's no use … I can't feel anything," he said, letting his hands drop. Harry took this as a bad sign. He believed that he should be able to feel _something _from a Horcrux, given his connection to Voldemort. But he stubbornly refused to consider that the award wasn't the Horcrux, because if it wasn't, he had no idea what was.

"Maybe if you touched it?" Ron offered.

"No Harry – don't you dare touch it," Hermione admonished. "Merlin knows what might happen."

"Well somebody needs to touch it to see if it's cursed," Ron insisted.

"Maybe not," Harry said. "Everyone back up." The others stepped back, and Harry used his wand to move the award to the floor. Then he pointed his wand toward it and commanded, "Serpensortia."

A sleek black snake shot from his wand, landing near the shield. =get on top of that shiny thing=, he commanded, and the snake instantly moved. It slid its body across the golden surface before doubling back and coming to a stop directly on top of it. It lifted its upper body and faced Harry, waiting for another command.

=go home= Harry said with a wave of his wand, and the snake vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Alright … so touching it doesn't seem to have any effect. Maybe … maybe it isn't what we think it is," he dejectedly concluded.

The four friends milled around the area, alternately glaring at the award and looking around the room in general.

"Hey," Ron finally exclaimed. "Where's our award?"

"Huh?" Harry said, having not really heard Ron.

"Our award for Special Services to the school – the one we earned for … er … Second Year. It should be right over there." He pointed to an area several feet down the wall, where the newer, house-colored plaques hung. "Ours was done in red and gold for Gryffindor, and it's supposed to be right above the two blue ones, right where that yellow one is."

"Visit it much, do you," Ginny smirked, even as Harry moved over to examine the area Ron had pointed out.

"It's not here," Harry agreed. "Do ya think they moved it?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned back to the wall and continued to scan the many awards.

"Oh honestly," Hermione huffed, pulling her wand. "Point me Harry Potter's award." Her wand swiveled in her hand until it stopped facing one of the cases. It was pointing to the Tri-Wizard trophy.

"Helpful, that," Ron muttered, before he placed his own wand flat on his hand. "Point me Ron Weasley's award." His wand swiveled, much as Hermione's had, but instead of coming to a rest, it continued back and forth for a full minute before it abruptly stopped spinning and rolled off his hand.

"Reckon that means it can't find it?" Ron asked.

"Reckon so," Hermione agreed.

Nobody wanted to say out loud what they were all thinking. Voldemort hadn't made his newest Horcrux out of his old school award after all. He'd made it out of Harry's.

-000-

"And you were going to tell me when?" demanded a very irate wizard, who felt perfectly justified in storming into the Headmaster's office. Unfortunately, he hadn't known said Headmaster was currently meeting with someone.

"I say!" chirped an indignant voice.

"Oh … my apologies, Madam Hooch. I didn't know the Professor was seeing someone right now."

Raising one eyebrow, Albus covered his chuckle by replying, "apology accepted this time, Mister Potter. As I believe my business with Madam Hooch is finished, I think I can offer you a few minutes of my time. If you don't mind, Rolanda?"

"No, Albus," she agreed, rising from her seat. "I imagine Mister Potter must have urgent school business to have so rudely interrupted. He's normally such a pleasant boy." With a polite nod to each, the flying instructor made her way from the office.

The embarrassed Head Boy slipped into a seat; though to be fair, the embarrassment was due to having realized his slip of tongue more than his rude entrance.

"Before you begin," Albus said as he casually reached for a candy from his dish, "please accept my gratitude for the interruption. While I enjoy Quidditch as much as the next person, I do have my limit, and two hours is an awfully long time to discuss the pros and cons of new house uniforms."

Not knowing how to reply, Harry just nodded as he accepted a glass of pumpkin juice from a house-elf.

"But certainly you did not storm your way into my office to save me from boredom. Perhaps you should begin by telling me what exactly I was supposed to have told you?"

"You were supposed to tell me Voldemort didn't use his school award for his new Horcrux."

"Oh my … did I really?" Albus asked, his surprise clear on his face. "I certainly don't remember forgetting to tell you that."

"You don't remember forgetting to tell me he used my award instead of his?"

"Well of course I don't, Harry. Do you ever remember forgetting things?," he chuckled. "And what do you mean by your award?"

"I mean mine," Harry helpfully explained. "Well, and Ron's I suppose. Our award for services to the school. We noticed it's gone last night."

"Gone? That certainly sounds suspicious. Not even a Seventh Year would be able to get around our anti-theft charms. They'd be rather useless if one could, don't you think? No, it would definitely take some powerful dark magic to accomplish; either that or intimate knowledge of how our charms work. However, as I find it unlikely Professor Flitwick is our thief, I feel reasonably safe in presuming it was in fact Voldemort."

"But it doesn't make sense," Harry said. "Why would he use something of mine? I'm his enemy. I mean, I got the award for defeating him."

"I do not believe his twisted mind considers it a defeat," Albus explained. "After all, the part that he considers his true self wasn't present at the time. I can't help but think that, in his mind, you having received the same award he himself received somehow strengthens the connection between the two of you. It makes you even more like him, if you will. To him, it was probably a quid pro quo. You received the award for destroying one of his Horcruxes, so he took your award to make a new Horcrux. Add to that the fact that you are the very embodiment of Gryffindor house, and he can probably consider it part of his school collection."

"That's some pretty wonky logic," Harry said.

"That's Voldemort."

"Right. Powerful but insane. Sometimes I almost forget that last part," Harry said with a shake of his head. "But, this doesn't get you out of trouble. You promised to tell me everything – everything important," he quickly clarified. "Don't you dare tell me about your itchy toes again!"

Smiling, Albus instead said, "I apologize most profusely for the oversight. But … and pardon me if I am mistaken, but didn't my oversight lead you to discovering the true Horcrux?"

"Sort of," he hedged, "but that doesn't make it alright."

"Doesn't it? Would you really rather not know? I can Obliviate you, if you like." As if to prepare, Albus raised his wand.

"No, don't want that," Harry was quick to say. "And I see your point. It was an honest oversight?"

"Completely honest," Albus assured him.

"Alright then, but don't forget to remember again."

"Of course not," he agreed with a smile. "Now, as long as you are here, how would you like to help a poor, forgetful old man make sense out of Professor Snape's proposed budget for next year. I sometimes suspect he purposely makes it complicated just to aggravate me."

After that, the rest of October flew past, and before Harry knew it Halloween had arrived. Hoping to avoid last year's breakfast bombshell, he and Ginny snuck down to the kitchen for a private feast. This confused several elves, who clearly weren't accustomed to visitors while meals were still being served upstairs. Two such elves – one rushing a platter of assorted fruits to a servicing table and the other bringing a bowl of porridge to Harry and Ginny – collided, covering Harry, Ginny, and both elves in a goopy, sticky mess.

Luckily, Dobby had been nearby, and the mess was cleaned with a quick snap of his fingers. (Harry did find several grapes in his book bag throughout the day, but he kept that to himself.) Deciding they'd best leave before being booted out, they each grabbed some fried ham and toast and retreated to the hall.

They went their separate ways for class, and Harry was able to get through all his morning classes without incident, unless you count accidentally making Professor Flitwick float across his classroom, which he didn't. On his way to the Great Hall for lunch he ran into Tonks, who was positively glowing. He'd heard pregnancy did that to women, but his teenaged male mind had mistakenly taken it literally. Now he understood.

"Wotcher, Harry," she cheerfully called out. No one was nearby, and for a brief second her hair flashed a vibrant green to emphasize the silly smile on her face.

"You're in a good mood," Harry said by way of greeting.

"Why shouldn't I be? I got to have breakfast with the most amazingly man on the planet."

"Really? I'd have sworn that was Ginny."

"Funny," she said, in a tone that clearly indicated otherwise. "Actually, your name came up this morning. See, we've decided that if the baby is a boy, we're going to name him Ted, after my dad. But, if it's a girl, we want to name her Lily, if you don't mind."

"Yeah … I mean, no, I don't mind. That'd be great."

She wanted to be certain, for some people were very possessive over family names. "So you and Ginny don't plan to use the name?"

"No … least I don't. I mean, we've talked about having kids, but we haven't gotten far enough that we've come up with names. Might jinx ourselves, or worse, make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. But Remus was actually friends with my Mum, and I think she'd like it if he named his little sprog after her."

Tonks' spontaneous hug took him by surprise, but he'd learned during his relationship with Ginny that it was best to just go along with it when girls got emotional. One light pat on the back later, Tonks pulled back and smiled warmly. Harry tactfully ignored the lone tear trekking down her face as he asked to escort her to the Hall.

They talked as they walked, mostly about the Gryffindor Quidditch match the next day. Judging by the detailed questions she was asking, Harry had to wonder if she was helping the twins set their odds.

Once inside the Great Hall he bid her a good day and made his way to his friends, where the topic of the afternoon seemed to be something Dean's mum had mentioned in her last letter. She was searching high and low for a new toy called a 'Tickles me Elmo', a bright blood-red stuffed animal which is supposed to shake and laugh when you tickle it, but which Seamus thought sounded like a creepy red cap. "Anyone wanting to play with one of those is a nutter."

Harry was saved from sharing his opinion by a Second Year Hufflepuff delivering a note. It was a summons to join Albus in the Staff Room as soon as he'd finished eating. Having no desire to debate if Elmo was a red cap or, as Ron now insisted, a blood-sucking bugbear, he excused himself to meet his guardian.

The door swung open as he approached, and Harry entered the nearly deserted room to find Albus seated near Professor Binns, discussing their favorite goblin rebellions. _'He has a favorite? That explains a lot.'_ Binns was the first to notice Harry. "Now see here Herman, no students allowed," he sternly called out.

"Ah, Cuthbert, I invited the boy," Albus explained as he rose from his seat. "Harry my boy … come, come," he beckoned, moving to an empty corner of the room. "I had some news for you – nothing urgent or especially sensitive – so I thought I'd save you the jog up to my office. I received word this morning that demolition is complete on the house in Godric's Hollow."

"Today? You got word _today_ that they tore it down?"

"Almost fitting, wouldn't you say," Albus countered. "Now, might I inquire as to what you plan to do with the land?"

"Oh, I've got an idea," Harry assured the man, "but I need to talk to some people first."

Albus tried to find out who the mysterious people were, but Harry remained tight-lipped on the topic, eventually claiming he needed to rush off to get to class. The afternoon went as smoothly as the morning, and when nothing bad had happened by dinner time, he allowed Ginny to drag him down to the Halloween Feast. But only after loudly insisting Hermione come with them, so he'd know she was safe in case any trolls showed up.

The Great Hall looked as festive as it always did; the whole room bathed in an orange glow from all the jack-o-lanterns. Roasted meats, steamed vegetables, and thick breads still warm from the oven quickly had Harry's attention. There were also more pumpkin dishes than Harry had even known existed – roasted pumpkin wedges and creamed pumpkin soups and a thick orange mess covered in melted butter that he suspected was mashed pumpkin.

Harry had finally relaxed and was thoroughly enjoying himself when a ghostly ram came galloping into the room, leaping over tables as it headed straight for the Headmaster. It had covered half the distance, when it suddenly dissolved into nothing mid-leap over the Ravenclaw table.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** I am 96% certain Ron was included on the award (which is, statistically, certain enough). I know he was in the movie, but it's not completely clear in the book. It seems he should be; he went into the Chamber, too, even if he got stuck on the wrong side of the cave-in. Including him would be a very Dumbledore-ish thing to do.

Credit where it's do. The name 'Pimmy Jalmer' is from the book Deep Six, by Thom E. Gemcity. (I think he might be an old friend of Tom Riddle's)


	28. Motivation

If you can find reference to it on the HP Lexicon, I didn't think of it first.

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**Chapter 28.**** Motivation**

Before it had even registered to the majority of the students that there was anything peculiar about the faded silvery ram, a cry from the teacher's table cut through the room ...

"_REMUS!"_

Harry didn't need to hear the name, his mind had already pieced it together … _'Remus … Hogs Head … Uncle Abe!'_ Pulling his wand, he jumped from his seat as he looked to Albus for guidance.

The Headmaster was already standing, calling for the students to remain calm.

A few seats away, Madam Pomfrey was standing next to Tonks, her arms wrapped around the distraught Defense teacher. Tonks was looking pleadingly toward Albus, tears already streaming down her face.

In the briefest of seconds, with nothing more than a few nods and hand gestures, Albus had the staff sorted out. "I leave you all in Professor Snape's capable hands," he quickly announced. Then he, Minerva, Hagrid and Professor Flitwick sprinted toward the antechamber that had been used for the tournament.

Before they'd even cleared the doorway Harry was sprinting up the aisle, intent to follow them into the room. He could hear his friends several steps behind, but over that noise he could hear a most unwelcome voice.

"POTTER! STAY PUT!" Snape commanded, but even he had to know Harry wasn't going to listen. And sure enough, the words had barely left his lips before he'd whipped his wand upward and added, "_Colloportus_."

All the doors leading out of the Great Hall began to slam shut … but Harry was nearly there … he pushed himself forward, and slipped through the opening just ahead of the heavy door, which ended up shoving his body forward as it snapped into place. He could hear the slurping sound of the door sealing, followed quickly by the sound of a body slamming into the unforgiving wooden surface – probably Ron or Neville.

Picking himself up, Harry noticed that the professors were already gone; but that wasn't going to stop him. He knew exactly where they were headed. Using the hidden door leading outside and running full-speed, he quickly followed a now-familiar path - cover the short distance to the chapel, transport to the old guard house, then Apparate into Hogsmeade. Instead of Apparating directly to the Hog's Head (a mistake he would have made a few years ago) he reappeared under a canopy at the Knight Bus garage, giving him a good view of the back of Abe's bar.

It wasn't a comforting sight. Several windows had been blown out, patches of light were visible in places were there should have been solid wall, and the far chimney had toppled over. Smoke was spiraling up from across the front of the building, suggesting the structure was on fire.

Ignoring the villagers who were now venturing outside to find the source of the ruckus, he sprinted through the back lots to get to the bar. As he neared the back garden he could hear voices shouting, but was still too far away to understand them. Surely by now, Albus and the others had arrived … but Harry couldn't tell if the fighting was over. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his invisibility cloak – glad he still carried it most everywhere – and tossed it over himself before leaving the safety of the shadows.

As he drew closer, plaintive bleating caught his ear, and he turned to follow the sound. Just there … behind an overgrown white snowpuff bush, Harry spotted his Uncle's pet chewing on someone's forgotten laundry, apparently unharmed. Taking that as a good sign, he continued toward the bar.

He passed Brian's hiding place without stopping, but a few steps later a louder bleat caused him to jerk around. Sure enough, there was Brian, who had fallen in step behind him. As Harry had stopped, so had the goat, and now it was staring Harry in the eye – an amazing feat, considering the goat shouldn't have been able to see him.

With his back to the bar, he carefully raised the front of the cloak so the goat could see him, and tried to send him away by urging him to "go" while making sweeping motions with his free hand.

Brian cocked his head to the side and continued to stare at him.

Giving up, Harry let the cloak drop back in place and continued on. He'd made it about three steps when two bodies stumbling out of the back of the pub, bringing him up short. Taking a deep breath he grasped the cloak in his left hand, ready to pull it off, and readied his wand to cast his first spell. He was outnumbered, but only slightly, and he would have the element of surprise on his side.

Or maybe not. Off to his left, a loud bleating garnered the attention of the newcomers, both of whom spun to find the source of the noise. In an instant, their wands were aimed at the harmless goat, and for a moment Harry feared Brian was toast. But just when Harry was certain a nasty cruse was about to fly toward the goat … just as he himself readied to send one of his own … the taller of the two stepped forward, just a step, but it was enough. Harry nearly shouted in relief as light illuminated a friendly face.

"Seba," he called as he yanked his cloak off. "What's happening? Where's Uncle Abe?"

"_Harry_ … what are you doing here?" asked a voice from behind Albus – Minerva's voice. "It isn't safe out here," she continued, but Harry ignored her as he turned his attention to Albus.

"Seba … where's Uncle Abe?" he asked again, a slight panic in his voice as he realized Albus wasn't answering. Ignoring the rock that seemed to have settled in his stomach, Harry rushed forward, intending to go around the others and enter the pub. He was just outside the door when Albus managed to grab his shoulder and hold him back.

Harry allowed himself to be stopped. He'd already glimpsed the inside of the pub – the overturned tables and chairs, the burning curtains, the shattered bar … and the bodies.

"He's not here, Harry," Albus finally explained in a weary voice. "Most of those poor souls were likely patrons caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, although they appear to have taken a few Death Eaters with them."

"So … it was a Death Eater attack?" It was a logical question, as there was no Dark Mark hovering in the night sky.

"Most definitely," Minerva confirmed, placing a comforting hand on Harry's wand arm.

Harry nodded his understanding, his eyes sweeping the damage as he finally asked, "and Remus?"

Albus and Minerva shared a look, before he wearily explained, "there is no sign of him either."

The silence of the moment was broken by Hagrid turning the corner. "Fire's out, Headmaster … an no sign o' the missin'. Fillius's gonna check upstairs again, just ta be safe." Hagrid looked as if he was going to leave, when his eyes fell on Harry. "Blimey Harry … what're you doin' out here. Don't you know this place ain't safe?"

Harry's reply was cut off by the second Patronus of the night; a silver doe that came leaping into view from the direction of the castle. She stopped in front of the group, searching the faces for one particular person. Harry thought she was beautiful, a perfect mate to his own stag, and wondered whose Patronus she was.

"You need to return, Headmaster," said the somber voice of Professor Snape, "we have guests."

Unseen by the others, Harry paled to an unhealthy shade of gray as he soundlessly gagged.

The doe had barely dissolved when Albus asked Hagrid to stay with Flitwick and finish up. He summoned a large glass mug from the pub, performed a bit of magic, and urged Harry and Minerva to grab hold.

With a jolt, Harry found himself in the Headmaster's office, where a House Elf seemed to be expecting them. "They's waiting in the Hospital Wing, Headmaster Sir," the elf explained. Albus immediately headed out, Minerva at his heals, and Harry, having not been told otherwise, hurried behind.

He entered the Hospital Wing cautiously, well behind the other two. Aside from dreading what he would find, he could feel a headache building and feared the matron would notice and force him into a bed. His worry was for naught. Madam Pomfrey was bustling around one of the two occupied beds, paying no attention to any of the newcomers after a cursory glance confirmed none were injured.

Whomever she was tending must have been seriously wounded. Harry just wished he could tell the person's identity.

The other guest, however, was easy to identify. "Uncle Abe," Harry shouted as he rushed forward to reach his uncle's side. The man was dazed and one of his arms hung limply at his side, but he was sitting on the edge of a bed unaided, which Harry took as a good sign. He knelt down at the man's side, grasping his good hand as he looked over his injuries. He was scratched, pale, and shaking, but his eyes were crisp and alert.

"Now … don't be look'n like you've lost your crup," Abe admonished. "I ain't dead … and I ain't dyin. Just a little scratched up is all."

"I'll be the judge of that," Pomfrey called over her shoulder, "just as soon as I have Mister Fletcher here straightened out."

And now that she'd said as much, Harry was able to recognize the strong alcohol and sulfur smell that was uniquely Dung. He almost said something, but at that particular moment his head gave a painful throb, followed by a feeling of joy that caused him to sway and nearly drop onto his arse. He bit his lip to keep from groaning.

"Aberforth?" Albus questioned, not noticing Harry's struggles.

Abe had already turned to look at his brother, also missing it. "I don't know what to say, Albus. One minute I was sittin' behind the bar, pouring a pitcher of stiff ale, and the next minute there were hexes flying from every direction. I took a nasty hit and lost my wand. Remus … Remus was at the end of the bar … they recognized him – called him 'Dumbledore's pet wolf' … used Cruciatus on him. But he got right back up and kept fighting. It was a mad house. Some of the customers, they was trying to get out, but some of my regulars, they was fighting back. And that Death Eater scum … they musta snuck in and pretended to be patrons, because they were everywhere."

By this time Abe's breathing had sped up, and Pomfrey quickly moved over and shoved a potion to his lips, which he drank without question. Instantly his breathing slowed, his hand stopped shaking, and his face lost some of its tightness.

"I'd told Remus of the passageway from one of the upstairs rooms to here, and he shoved me at Dung and told us to get up there and get out. He – he was supposed to be right behind us. But he never came … and then there was this scream, 'bout made my skin crawl … and then one of them Scum Eaters was coming up the stairs … Dung slammed the door and was trying to seal it when his wand misfired … think it was broken, but the idiot used it anyway … and so I grabbed him and … we left."

Turning to face Harry (who was doing a remarkable imitation of someone who was only sad and certainly not in immense pain) he continued, "I'm so sorry, lad. I know he was a good friend of yours. But there was nothing we could do. Dung was hurt, and I'd lost my wand, and—"

"It's alright Uncle Abe," Harry assured him. "You did what you could." Seeing the nurse was ready for Abe, he added, "now let's get you into the bed properly so Madam Pomfrey can get you fixed up. I'll warn you, though, she's right strict."

She allowed Harry pull back the covers before waving everyone out of her way and getting to work. Albus whispered something to her, earning himself a dark look, before inviting the others to a meeting in his office. Shaking his head, Harry instead plopped into the chair next to Abe's bed, feeling himself deflate as the adrenaline wore off.

Closing his eyes and concentrating, he was able to force away what he could only describe as Voldemort's jubilant celebration, leaving just the constant throbbing in his head to deal with. Resting his forehead in his hand, he gently massaged his temple as covertly as possible. He wasn't leaving until he knew Uncle Abe would be alright, but he was staying as a guest, not a patient, thank you very much.

It was Albus who found him the next morning, sleeping in the bed next to Abe's. "Harry," he gently called, "time to rise. You've got a Quidditch match today," he continued when he saw Harry's eyes open, "and your teammates will be quite put out if their captain is missing."

Sitting up and putting on his glasses, he quickly checked to see that Abe was sleeping (he was) before turning to his guardian. "I don't think I can play today. What about Abe … and Remus? I need to stay here."

"No Harry," Albus countered, "you need to get outside and enjoy yourself for a few hours. Aberforth is in excellent hands, and Remus … well, you sitting here isn't going to find him, so you might as well be out there." Giving him a reassuring smile, Albus added, "I believe in the past you have found flying an excellent way to take you mind off your troubles. And in addition to helping yourself, your participation in today's event will help reassure your classmates that life continues despite our temporary setbacks. Unfortunately, as leaders, we must consider how our actions affect those who follow."

Harry couldn't help but think he was making a mistake, but he allowed Albus to guide him out of the Hospital Wing and down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The team was sitting together, and he filled the gap between them and his friends. Hermione actually waited until he'd had a drink of juice before pumping him for information.

"Seba filled me in this morning," he explained. "Hagrid and Professor Flitwick searched the entire area, and all they could find was Remus' wand. It was broken in half - that's why his patronus disappeared like it did. They found Abe's too, on the ground under what was left of the counter."

"But Remus," Hermione prodded.

"No other sign. But that's good, I suppose. If they'd killed him, there would have been a body … or blood … or … something." He ended with a great sigh.

"Harry," Hermione slowly said, "maybe you shouldn't play today. I mean … your mind's not really going to be on the game. Maybe you should sit this one out."

"I wanted to," he confessed, "but Seba told me it would be good for me. Oh… and something about people looking up to me and morale."

"Well, that's true," Hermione conceded. "Just promise you'll pay extra attention and be careful."

"Do I ever do otherwise when I'm on my broom?"

Yet, hovering above the Quidditch pitch as red and green blurs crisscrossed beneath him, Harry admitted to himself he was only half-heartedly looked for the snitch. Sure, he would scan the playing field, but then he would scan the spectators, spotting Albus by the empty place where Tonks should have been … and then he'd realize that his eyes had drifted toward the castle, where Uncle Abe was still resting in the infirmary … or out toward the village, which he couldn't really see, but he could imagine well enough.

A blur to his left caught his attention, causing him to pull back sharply. And just in time, too, as an opposing beater came barreling past, his bat swinging dangerously close to Harry's broom as he stretched to hit a bludger toward another player.

Resettling on his broom, Harry looped around the field, angling closer to the ground. It was a brisk, hazy day, and without bright sunshine to reflect off its golden surface the snitch was going to be hard to find. Experience had taught him that it tended to stay lower to the ground in such conditions.

"And another score for Slytherin," an unknown voice cheerfully called out. "That puts them up by 100. Gryffindor really seems to be struggling today. Let's hope Potter and his crew know what they're doing."

Quickly scanning the sky, Harry agreed that his team didn't look all that organized. Spotting Madam Hooch nearby, Harry zoomed over, called a time-out, and then he landed near the Gryffindor goalposts to meet his team.

"Right," he started, once everyone was huddled, "seems we're not doing so hot. I know we're all a bit shaken up by the attack in Hogsmeade and Remus – the old Professor Lupin's – disappearance. But if we're not even going to try, we might as well just forfeit now."

"It's Ron's fault," screeched new Beater Natalie McDonald, "he's letting everything in. So help me … if those morons start singing 'Weasley is our King', I'm going to personally—"

"Oh, like it's all my fault we're losing," Ron fired back. "You nearly hit me with a bludger. Twice! You're supposed to aim _for the other team_."

Soon, the whole team was shouting at each other.

"Well, maybe if you— "

"Have you even _tried_ to score?"

"—use your bat to actually hit— "

"Like you've got room to talk— "

"Why don't you take your broom and go— "

"—shove that quaffle right up—"

"QUIET!" Everyone fell silent at Harry's command, some having the grace to look embarrassed. "Good. Now, I admit some of us are having trouble concentrating, but we're not that far behind. We can still win this. Natalie, you and Towler have got to keep those bludgers away from our Chasers so we can score. Ginny … which of your brother's recently pissed you off?"

"That'd be Fred and George and their stupid disappearing ink."

"Right, then from now on, pretend their Keeper is Fred, and the quaffle is George. Got it?"

An evil grin spread across her face as she nodded.

"The rest of you … you know what to do … you just gotta do it. And Ron … you and I gotta get our heads out of our arses so we can win this game. Can we all do that? … Good, 'cause honestly, we're lucky their Seeker hasn't already spotted the snitch and won the game."

"You really have had your head up your bum if you didn't notice your shadow," Ron snickered. "This is Taggart's first game, and he's been following your every move. I think he thinks you've got some grand strategy or something. It's kinda funny."

"Oh, alright then. Time's about up, let's get back into the air." Everyone else moved to mount their brooms, but Harry wasn't as confident of the other Seeker's lack of skill as Ron clearly was, so he pulled Natalie aside. "Do me a favor. If you see their Seeker veer away from me … stop him somehow."

"Got it, Captain." And with a goofy little salute, she hopped on her broom and flew away. Harry quickly followed and soon the game was back on.

Gryffindor's Chasers were back in the game, scoring within minutes of the restart. The Beaters were also playing better – bludgers were flying toward enemy players with uncanny precision. Ron was even back in form, having regained some confidence by blocking back-to-back shots.

Unfortunately, the other team's confidence was hard to shake, and they continued to score. After almost an half hour, the score was 50-120 in the other teams favor.

For the first time in a long time, Harry honestly didn't think they would win the game. He needed to catch the snitch soon, before Slytherin's lead exceeded 150, but the snitch was proving to be quite elusive despite his new-found attention to the game. He continued his plan to sweep the field in low-flying moves, occasionally checking behind him to find that Taggart, the Slytherin Seeker, was indeed dogging his every move. He relaxed a bit as he conceded that Taggart was unlikely to spot the snitch first.

With a smirk, Harry suddenly shot upward, not slowing until he was just above the highest spectators' seats. From his new perch he casually scanned the sky, noticing his shadow was doing the same several yards away. Turning his attention below, he continued to look for his golden prey. He spotted the quaffle, sailing just past Ron's outstretched arm … could make out Luna's crazy lion hat … saw some Professors prowling around the spectator stands (a recent addition of Albus'), ready to jump into action if there was trouble … and a few bored students leaving the stands.

A streak of gold to his right caught his attention, and Harry spun in his seat, reaching out to catch the snitch. Only it wasn't a golden snitch. It was something Harry had only ever seen in pictures before. A real, live Snidget; and it seemed to be hovering just out of his reach. He was so shocked, he froze … his right arm still stretched out, his left hand loosely holding his broomstick.

Unseen by him, Taggart had spotted his sudden movement and was now shooting toward him in hopes of catching the non-existent snitch. The Snidget, perhaps sensing danger, or maybe just ready to move on, abruptly turned tail and flew off toward the Forbidden Forest at an amazing speed.

What happened next took only seconds, but for Harry it was all in slow motion. He started to drop his arm, wobbling as he noticed he was off-balance … but a shriek, sounding an awful lot like his name, caught his attention … he turned his head to find the source of the sound, and felt his body shift sideways, and hooked his leg to keep from sliding off his broom … he never saw the real danger, the other Seeker, who was going too fast to stop and didn't have enough control to turn … two bodies collided, and together they twisted and tumbled off their brooms.

Their teammates had seen the danger, and were already coming to their aid. This wasn't helpful.

Ginny and a Slytherin chaser were the closest … too close, it turned out … Harry's flaying foot kicked the Slytherin player in the back of the head, causing him to jerk forward in a way that his sensitive broom interpreted as a command to speed up. Meanwhile, Taggart the Seeker's entire body fell across the front of Ginny's broom, tipping it end over end and tossing her into the free-falling mix.

Dierks Harper, the out-of-control Slytherin chaser, had no idea where he was headed. He couldn't see anything beyond the stars dancing in front of his eyes. The loud shrieks might normally have been a sign, but knowing Potter was about to go splat, he'd assumed the cries of warning were for him. He was, therefore, completely taken by surprise when he suddenly crashed into one of the spectator stands, breaking the safety rail and knocking into several students.

It set off a cascade effect. First, a heavy-set Ravenclaw who had been standing in the front row started to teeter. He reached out and grabbed his much thinner friend in an attempt steady himself. It didn't work; instead, it sent both of them falling over the edge. As they fell, they knocked a massive section of the damaged guard rail loose, and it too headed for the ground. All along the front row, students who had been leaning on the railing – trusting it to support their weight as they stretched forward to watch the action – were dumped off the stands.

In the air … seconds ticked by … and Harry, Ginny, and the poor little Slytherin Seeker continued their fall back to earth. It had been slowed by the wands of at least two professors and the Headmaster, but couldn't be stopped.

Harry's unmanned broom, understandably forgotten in the mayhem, continued zooming forward. Unfortunately, when Harry had lost his hold on the broom it had been spun around so it was facing a new direction. Ron Weasley, frozen in place as he helplessly watched his best friend and baby sister fall, never noticed the missile coming right for him. It slammed into his left shoulder with enough force to knock him backward. He smacked into the ring of one of the goals with a loud _thwump_ that no one heard over the already loud screams from the crowd. He, too, fell toward the ground.

Exactly two people noticed Ron's predicament. Hermione, who was too far away to do anything more than bite her nails, and Madam Hooch. The referee stilled her broom, pulled her wand, and was busy trying to slow his decent when a forgotten bludger rammed into the back of her head. She, at least, had the excuse of being unconscious when she fell off her broom.

Back in the middle of the field … Harry hated falling off his broom. He really, really did. As the ground came speeding up … or was he speeding down … slower then he knew he should be, he had the absurd thought that this was going to hurt. Harry pushed his hands out and thought one thing over and over … _'soft' … 'soft' … 'soft'_ … he felt himself hit ground that was much softer than it should have been, but a split-second later a heavy object landed on top of him, forcing his face into the hard ground and the air from his chest. Then a third object landed on both of them, took a slight bounce, and landed again across four legs.

One last Ravenclaw lost his fight with gravity, while another was dangling from what was left of the railing. She was being supported by two other students as a third was trying to use magic to pull her back up.

And then it was over.

A pile of three students lay on the ground in the middle of the field. Harry was at the bottom. He was trying to roll over so he could breathe easier, but the weight on top of him wouldn't allow it. He lifted his face out of the dirt and felt the metal of his frames digging into his face, the skin around his nose throbbing.

On top of him was Ginny, who had landed hard on Harry, and who in turn was landed on by Taggart before he'd taken his little bounce. She wasn't moving and wasn't making any noise, but at least Harry could feel her hot breath on his neck.

The Slytherin that was the last part of their triple-decker was groaning loudly about his arm.

Ron was out cold a few feet from the base of the left goal. His legs were bent in ways legs aren't meant to be bent.

Madam Hooch was lying on her side near the north entrance. Her arm was under her head, giving the appearance that she was merely sleeping.

In all, eight Ravenclaw students had fallen to the ground. Like Ginny, many were injured twice – once when they landed, and again when they were landed on by other bodies or wooden debris. Up in the stands, five other students had minor injuries from being flown into by Harper the Chaser, who was sitting upright, dazed and confused, with his left hand still clutching a small broken section of his broomstick.

From the top of the adult's section, Albus was staring at the mess, his wand still trained on the ground where Harry landed. Beside him, a clear-headed Minerva used a charm to amplify her voice, ordering the students to exit in a calm manner and stay out the adult's way. Flitwick was already halfway down the stairs to check on his students. An uptight Snape was striding across the field to check the injured players when a bug buzzed by. In irritation he reached out to bat it away. Only later would he confess to Albus that he had caught the snitch.

For once, Harry didn't mind his time in the Hospital Wing. Maybe it was because he wasn't the focus of attention. With so many injuries coming in at one time, Pomfrey had sorted the students into three categories: more than broken bones, broken bones, and can wait for last. He was a 'can wait'.

Very few of the students were sorted into the first category, but Ginny was one of them. She's bruised several of her squishy inside parts and had the sense knocked out of her – that was Harry's diagnosis. He might not have the technical terms down, but he was confident in the diagnosis: two stinky and horrible tasting potions, a skin cream, some bone mending charms, and a mandatory overnight stay.

Harry compared that to himself. His only real injury, aside from his pride of course, was a hanging flap of skin on the side of his nose where the metal frame from his glasses had cut into his face. He completely discounted his sore ribs, as he knew nothing there was broken.

Deciding he was wasting his time and needlessly taking up vital hospital space, he shuffled over to Madam Pomfrey. "So I was thinking," he began as she checked a nervous looking Ravenclaw's pulse, "that I've probably been through this enough to know what I'm doing. How about if I help myself to a skin cream and clear out of your way?"

Without letting go of the other boy's wrist, she twisted around and glared. "Without your glasses, Mister Potter, you're as likely to remove your nose as heal it. Now why don't you go find yourself a seat out of my way and wait quietly like a good little boy, hmm?" She turned back to her patient without giving him a chance to reply.

Knowing visiting either Ginny or Ron wouldn't meet her requirement, he wandered over to the darkened corner where he knew he'd find Uncle Abe. Coming around the cheerful yellow privacy screen (courtesy of Albus, no doubt), he found Abe propped up by several fluffy pillows.

"Nice of you to want to keep me company, but you didn't have to dive off your broom to do it." Seeing the grimace on Harry's face, he added, "Your girlfriend'll be fine, lad. You'll see that for yourself once you can put on your glasses. Won't be see'in much of anything 'till then." With a nasty laugh he added, "how can you even be sure it's me you're talkin' to?"

"Because no one else can be so endearing and nasty at the same time. And I can't put my glasses on. They were damaged beyond repair, so Seba's off to find me a new pair."

Heavy footsteps interrupted their talk seconds before a dark figure peeked around the screen. It started to move away before it turned back sharply.

"Potter – what _are_ you doing back here?" Snape demanded.

"Sitting quietly, not getting into anything, and watching the blobs go by."

Gritting his teeth, Snape replied, "I meant what are you doing harassing the Headmaster's brother?"

"Oh, let the boy hide from the big, scary nurse lady, Severus," Abe cheerfully teased.

"Very well, Aberforth," Snape conceded much too easily. Harry rather thought he looked like he enjoyed the idea of Harry hiding from Pomfrey, which was odd considering Harry couldn't actually make out the man's face. "You wouldn't happen to know where Poppy's hidden my Seeker, would you? No one seems to know what happened to Taggart after he was carried off the field."

"I think I heard something about the east corner by the filing cabinets," Harry offered.

"Thank you, Aberforth," Snape said as he left, ignoring Harry.

Waving Snape off, Abe turned back to Harry. "Now that we're alone, I've been hearing some interesting rumors regarding you, a convict, and a hippogriff. Why don't you fill me in on all the juicy details …"

When Pomfrey arrived, hours and hours and hours later, Harry almost jumped up and gave her a hug, he was so glad to see her. The impossible had happened – Uncle Abe was getting on his nerves.

Several tutting noises and wand waves later, she declared him mostly mended. "You'll live, of course. A couple of potions and we'll have you right as rain. You'll be glad to know the cut on your face will heal without scarring and I dare say those ribs you're pretending are fine won't hurt anymore." She handed him two of the 'stinky and horrible tasting' potions, and when he'd forced down the second one she picked up her tray and turned to leave.

A few steps away, she turned back. "You may not leave until you have your new glasses firmly in place – I'll not have you returning tonight because you mistook a baby dragon for your friend's cat. And before you try to argue, may I remind you that I am the one that treated Mister Weasley's hand all those years ago." Shaking her head, she muttered, "Boys thinking they can get one by me."

She marched away, leaving an embarrassed boy and a laughing old man behind.

Deciding he'd had enough, Harry offered Abe a quick goodbye and went in search of Ginny and Ron. But mostly Ginny. He found them rather easily by following the sound of familiar voices. Hermione was trying to mother an uncooperative Ron, and their bickering was hard to miss once he left Abe's curtained area. Ginny was sitting up in her bed, laughing at them.

With a hug and a light kiss on her tender cheek, Harry settled next to her on the bed.

"Well …" she prompted.

Knowing what she was worried about, he quickly explained. "We lost … unofficially. There were too many injured players, not to mention the referee and several spectators, so they called the game. Since Slytherin was ahead 130 to 50, they're claiming the win. But it's only the first game," he lamely added, knowing it made as little difference to her as it made to him.

"And my broom … is it …"

"Oh, it's fine. Demelza caught it before it could drift too far. Someone took it to your dorm. And thanks, by the way, for asking about your broom before you asked how I was."

"I can see for myself just how fine you are, Potter."

"You're pretty fine yourself, Potter," he answered back as he wrapped his arms around her.

She giggled when he kissed her behind her ear, then outright laughed when loud footsteps approaching caused Harry to pull away and sit up straight, clearly trying to seem as if he hadn't been on the verge of snogging her senseless.

The new guests, first Demelza and Natalie from the team, then a couple of Ginny's classmates, all smirked in his direction. Feeling woefully outnumbered by all the females, Harry excused himself to go check on Ron, where he stayed until Pomfrey sent him to a particularly hard stiff-backed chair to wait for his new eyewear.

When Albus finally arrived with his new glasses, he couldn't escape fast enough.

Harry and Hermione returned the next morning to escort the two Weasley's to breakfast. Having spent too, too many nights there himself, Harry expected the two to be excitedly waiting to be released. Instead, he was faced with a subdued duo leaning together reading a letter.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, Ginny looked up and locked eyes. "Oh Harry, it's just awful." Instead of explaining, she drew his attention to the letter hanging from Ron's hand.

_Ron, Ginny __and Harry (and Hermione, too)_

_Early yesterday morning your father and I received word that Charlie was hurt during a raid on the dragon preserve on Halloween. We left immediately. We're at Moldavia Hospital for Magical Beings, where he was taken._

_Your brother is stable, and we have every reason to believe he will recover. There isn't much else we can tell you at this point. We hope to be able to bring Charlie home very soon. In the meantime, try not to worry._

_Love, Mum_

"Bring Charlie home," Harry read out loud. "That makes it sound like …"

"Like he's really hurt," Ginny finished, finally looked up at him. There were tears falling down her face, and Harry plopped down next to her and pulled her into his arms.

"Maybe it's not that bad," he tried to assure her.

"If it wasn't that bad, she would have said it wasn't that bad," Ginny mumbled into his chest.

"Yeah. It's what Mum doesn't say that's worrisome," Ron went on to add. "Stable, Harry. That's what they said about you when you were hurt on the train last year, and you almost died!"

"But stable is better than critical, Ron," Hermione tried to explain, taking his hand in hers without thinking. "I know it's hard, but you mustn't think such negative thoughts. The letter sounds rushed … maybe she just didn't have all the facts yet, and she'll write again when they know more."

"Yeah, maybe," Ron agreed, but Harry had the distinct impression he didn't believe a word she'd said. He couldn't blame him, it sounded pretty dire to him, too. Sharing a sad look with Hermione, he pulled Ginny closer and lightly kissed the top of her head. Finally deciding breakfast was a lost cause, he convinced the others to return to the Common Room, where they cuddled together on one of the couches.

They stayed that way through the morning, discussing nothing more exciting than whether the stain on the wall looked like a fat rabbit with short ears or a garden gnome wearing a hat. At one point, Harry attempted to lighten the mood by retelling a racy story he'd heard from Uncle Abe, but he messed it up terribly so that it made no sense whatsoever. It was proof of everyone's dismal mood that Hermione didn't say a word about its inappropriateness, and Ron laughed despite it not being funny.

After that, they sat together in gloomy silence until one of the Fifth Year prefects came over to ask Harry a question. He got no further then "hey Harry" when Ron rudely told him to shove off.

Ron's inappropriateness couldn't slip past Hermione's radar, and as she chided Ron, Harry eased himself out of Ginny's arms to catch up to the Prefect. His problem was easily solved – he'd been confused over whether he could take points or not for magic in the halls (he could) – but it was enough to snap Harry out of his funk.

"Come on," he said when he returned to his friends, "I can't be the only one that's hungry, and lunch is almost over."

Hermione agreed and jumped up, the other two right behind her. As they made their way down to the Great Hall, several of their friends, Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillian among them, teased Harry for falling off his broom again. And at least one courageous boy asked Ginny if she was feeling better. The scowl on Harry's face had him scampering away without an answer, much to everyone's amusement.

It was with a much lighter mood that the friends arrived in the Great Hall. It was mostly empty, with only a few groups scattered around the house tables. Most of the students, it seemed, had finished quickly so they could enjoy what might be one of the last decent days of autumn. Plenty of food had been left behind, but Ron took advantage of the situation by helping himself to a large serving of sticky toffee pudding as his main dish. Harry tuned out Hermione's admonishments ("honestly Ron, it'll still be there after you have some chicken") to help himself to some food.

The four had chosen seats at the end of the table closest to the Head Table, Harry and Ginny on one side and Ron and Hermione on the other. They ate and talked and occasionally shared greetings with the other students who passed by on their way out of the hall. Soon, all but Ron had full stomachs, and the other three took to guessing what he would eat next. As he reached for another serving of chicken and ham pie, Dobby popped into the hall, unfortunately choosing to appear on the table, right where a second before the pie had stood. Ron yelped and dropped the spoon as the others to burst out laughing.

Thinking he'd done something wrong, Dobby quickly cowered and likely would have bashed his head onto the table if Harry hadn't reached out and shoved his hands in the way. When the elf looked up, he quickly diverted his attention, "Was there something you needed, Dobby?"

Dobby's ears instantly perked up and he nearly skipped in place as he remembered his task. "Yes, Harry Potter Sir … Dobby is to tell you and you's friends that you is needed in the Professor MacGonagall's office as soon as you is done eating." His eyes opened impossibly wide as he excitedly explained, "Yours Bill Wheezy is waiting to see you. And he is asking Dobby if Dobby is feeling better. Harry Potter's friends is remembering Dobby!"

Dobby might have continued on in his praise of Harry and his friends, but Ginny had already jumped from her seat and was dragging Harry with her toward the doors. Ron and Hermione were right behind, Hermione at least pausing to thank Dobby for the message.

They made their way to Minerva's office to find their Professor waiting for them outside her door. "I shall give you some privacy. Please do remember to respect my things," she instructed them, a rare smile barely noticeable on her face. Inside the office, Ginny practically squealed as she threw herself into her brother's arms, barely giving him time to stand and brace for impact. "Oh Bill … when we got Mum's letter, we just … is there any word? Is Charlie alright?"

"Calm down, half-pint," Bill finally managed to say. He allowed her to step back – or maybe he gently pushed her back – so that he could see the whole group. "Charlie's … well … he's healed, physically. Barely a scratch on him now," he added, putting so much enthusiasm into his words that everyone listening knew it was false. "But … see, there was … he was … he took a nasty curse to the head, and it seems to have messed with his brain … just a bit. Some specialist from Torino is assessing him – whatever that means. Mum and Dad are hoping to bring him home later this week."

A stunned silence met his pronouncement, and it was Hermione who finally broke it. "When you say messed with his brain, what exactly does that mean?"

"Wish I knew," he responded. "Truth is, nobody seems to know exactly what spell hit him, just that he took it right in the back of the head. They also think he hit his head on something when he fell, and that might have compounded the injury. He didn't remember anything when he first woke up … not even his own name … but when Mum walked in he seemed to respond to her right away. That's really all I know." He truly seemed apologetic that he didn't have brighter news. "Dad needs to be back on Wednesday – some high level meeting he can't miss – so hopefully he'll have more news by then."

The silence returned, and Harry found himself reaching out and pulling Ginny tightly against his chest. He wasn't aware of Ron also pulling Hermione close, oddly offering her comfort even though it was his brother they were discussing. "Can you tell us anything about the attack," Harry heard himself asking – the sound of his own voice taking him by surprise.

"It wasn't against Charlie, if that's what you're asking," Bill was quick to assure. "The official report is that dark wizards led giants in an attack. But I think everyone assumes it was Death Eaters. And their goal seems to have been one specific dragon – and old Horntail called Thistlebear. They say its body was ripped to shreds. And they … they cut off its head and made off with it. Not sure why they'd do that, dragon heads aren't particularly useful by themselves. Several other dragons were harmed, a few even had to be put down, and some others escaped. Human-wise, Charlie wasn't the only injury. At least three others were injured and two were killed. Charlie's, er … flatmate, Vanya, was one of them."

"Flatmate?" Ron questioned.

"Yeah," Bill replied, with just a bit of laughter in his voice, "apparently Charlie was" – he held up his hands to make air-quotes – "co-habituating without the benefit of marriage" – he smirked, dropping his hands, "with some Russian about ten years older than him."

"A Russian, huh," Ron commented, "always wondered why he drank vodka."

"And just what would you know about Charlie's vodka, little brother," Bill teased.

Ron was saved from forced confession by the door opening to reveal Professor McGonagall, who was almost apologetic when she asked to have her office back. Ron and Ginny offered to walk Bill to the front doors and the three headed off in that direction, Bill with his arm around Ginny's shoulders. Hermione went along, but turned back with a questioning glance when Harry didn't follow.

Shaking his head, Harry pointed toward the infirmary, indicating he wanted to check in with his own family. Wandering slowly toward the Hospital Wing, he couldn't help but think over the last few days. Uncle Abe was in the infirmary, his pub half-destroyed, and who knows what it meant for his health … Remus was missing and his pregnant wife was not handling the news well … Harry himself had nearly broken his neck playing a stupid game … and now Charlie didn't even know his own family.

_Enough was enough!_ Voldemort needed to be stopped; well, that was rather obvious. But finding the remaining Horcruxes was taking too long – he needed to find something sooner rather than later. If only he had Hermione's brains, he'd probably have this whole mess resolved by now.

Standing in front of the doors to the Hospital Wing, he put his hand on the handle as he took a deep, cleansing breath. He'd worry about that later; right now he had a sick Uncle to cheer up.

Pulling the door open, he heard an exasperated voice shrieking, "whiskey is not on our menu for a reason, Mister Dumbledore!"

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** So Remus' patronus is a ram, which is a male sheep, 'cause he's a wolf in sheep's clothing. 'Half-pint' was shamelessly stolen from Little House on the Prairie. I wanted Bill to have a special nickname for Ginny; as I can attest, the baby of the family tends to have several nicknames (_and not all of them are nice!_). Since she was still rather little when he left home, I figured something to do with her size was appropriate.

On a personal note, I have to say I'm relieved this one's done. Last minute, I rewrote about a third of the chapter as I realized my Quidditch match was, to put it bluntly, uninspired. Hopefully, this version is better.


	29. Hermione's Brains

K.I.S.S. - I don't own Harry Potter.

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**Chapter 29: Hermione's Brains**

After a visit full of Abe complaining about the blandness of his food, the house elf that delivered his food, the lack of alcoholic content in his drink, and the style and color of Albus' robes, Harry couldn't fake being cheerful for his uncle any longer. Excusing himself, he headed to his dorm hoping that schoolwork might get his mind off the terrible news he'd been faced with all day.

He settled onto his bed and pulled out his supplies so he could get to work on a Charms assignment (_Discuss how enchantments can be used in recreation_). One hour and two feet of parchment later, he felt he had a decent first draft and should probably read it through.

_Enchantments in Sports_

_The best example I can think of for enchantments in recreation is Quidditch. For example, brooms have loa__ds of enchantments on them, such as cushioning charms and breaking charms. There's also a charm on the Snitch that alerts the referee when it's caught. Uncle Abe uses a similar charm at his pub to know if anyone tries to steal his goat. Many pubs ban animals from being inside, but all pets are welcome at the Hogs Head, even the occasional friendly werewolf._

_Speaking of charms used at pubs, Remus once taught me a charm to bring a bottle of Butterbeer to the perfect drinking temperature, but he got mad when Uncle Abe said it also worked on Firewhisky. The incantation is …_

"Bloody buggering …" he muttered as he balled up the useless work. Apparently he hadn't been as successful at pushing his troubles aside as he'd hoped. Letting his head drop as he slowly shook it, Harry tried to somehow push the thoughts away. Instead they swam back to the front of his mind.

His visit with his family hadn't been as reassuring as he'd hoped. Uncle Abe's pub would be no more. Albus felt the building was unstable – _"shaky as a bridge built by a blind troll"_ – and should probably be razed. Abe had tried to argue, but triggered a painful coughing fit. While Madam Pomfrey tended him, Albus had pulled Harry aside ...

"_Harry, __I need your help convincing Aberforth to let the pub go. No – hear me out," he hastily added when it looked like Harry would argue, "you know Aberforth wasn't in the best of health to begin with; and I fear the fight and especially the smoke exacerbated his illness enough that he can no longer live on his own."_

"_So …"_

"_There is enough space__ in my quarters for one more bedroom, I should think." Albus quickly glanced at his brother, who was trying to convince Pomfrey that a steaming mug of spiced apple wine would make him feel much better. "However, I do not think he will listen to me. But you …"_

_He hadn't finished the thought but Harry had known what he meant, and with a nod he'd agreed to convince Abe to remain in the castle._

That should prove interesting, Harry thought, given how the brothers couldn't be together for more than twenty minutes - make that two minutes - without fighting.

But Abe wasn't the only one that had major changes to adjust to. With a loud sigh, Harry flopped back onto his headboard as he remembered the other news Albus had shared ...

"_We are closing __in on 48 hours since the attack and there is still no sign of Remus. There is no easy way to say this, Harry, but after such a length of time it is unlikely we shall find anything. Until Voldemort shows his hand, we are at a loss."_

"_But what about Snape? Surely he knows something." It was an irrational thing to say, Harry knew, but he was desperate. He'd grown rather close to Remus during their training sessions, not to mention he was Harry's best link to his godfather._

"_Severus had no prior knowledge of the attack, and he is unlikely to learn anything until he is called," Albus gently explained. "And even then, he must be careful in his questions lest he reap Voldemort's suspicions."_

"_So we just do nothing, and hope that Voldemort … what? … sends me a post, or gives an interview with the Daily Prophet or something?"_

"_We will do what we can, Harry. Of that you can be certain. But please understand, what we can do is very little."_

"_And what about Tonks?__" Harry bitterly demanded. It was unfair to continue to throw his anger at Albus' feet, but Harry had to put it somewhere. "What are you telling her?" _

"_She was an Auror, so she understands the situation far better than she wants to. She hid herself away in their rooms until finally Minerva barged in and forced her to eat and rest. She tried to convince Nymphadora to send for her mother, but the dear girl refuses."_

_That made sense, Harry thought. With her father dead and her husband missing, she would want to be assured that at least one person she loved was out of Voldemort's grasp._

"_Minerva has taken it upon herself to fill in by mothering the daylights out of the girl," Albus continued. "Poppy has put her on bed rest, strictly as a precaution, but I hope she can return to the classroom in a week or two. I feel it would give her a sense of purpose. Until then, Severus and I shall take turns teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."_

But even the idea of Albus teaching his classes was unable to cheer Harry up. Hiding in his shadowed bed and thinking about the lives that had been shattered, he easily could have slipped into a bit of a depression if Dean hadn't stomped into the dormitory grumbling about girls and tight robes and bloody teases, effectively snapping Harry out of this own mind. At an appropriate point, he offered a half-hearted "yeah mate" then flattened out his poorly written essay to see what could be salvaged.

He was trying to decide if he could somehow save the section on gambling when Ron came to get him for dinner. Neither he nor his friends were in the mood for the friendly chatter of the Great Hall, so they eat a quick meal then headed for their favorite seats in the Common Room.

"You're awfully quiet," Hermione opened, looking Harry over critically.

"This attack … it was too close for comfort," he finally answered. "I mean, it's one thing when they target me – I'm bloody well used to it by now. And even you all and the Headmaster I can understand. But Uncle Abe? Charlie? It's like they're hurting people I know just because they can."

"Bit full of yourself there, aren't you mate?" Ron shot back.

Harry jerked his head around to glare at Ron, but Hermione was having none of it. "Ron has a point, Harry. Abe was probably targeted because he's the Headmaster's brother. Really … did Voldemort even know you knew the man? And Bill already told us Charlie wasn't the target in that attack, some dragon was."

Ginny couldn't stop the small giggle from erupting, instantly gathering everyone's attention. "A dragon! The man's supposed to be this great powerful evil wizard, and he's off attacking dragons."

"It's because of Nagini," Harry explained. "She was attacked by a dragon and was dying from the injuries, and I'd bet anything that's the dragon they massacred. He was doing it for revenge."

Ginny's laughter started up again. "Oh Harry, don't you see? The big, bad, dark lord had his favorite toy broken … so he's throwing a temper tantrum."

"You know," added Hermione, joining in the laughter, "when you think about it, his snake was rather like a security blanket."

Harry couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face as he pictured Voldemort, hugging his snake to himself as he curled up in bed. He tried to picture him sucking his thumb, but just couldn't make it work. "Alright, I get your point," he conceded. "But even if it wasn't meant as a message to me, it still opened my eyes."

"I guess it is easy to forget how bad war can be when we're here," Hermione agreed.

"Not for me," Harry gloomily responded. "I … I can't even explain what I feel right now. I have to stop that monster, but I can't yet, and while we're sitting around waiting, he's out there wreaking havoc."

Ron snorted. "Wreaking havoc," he mimicked. "That's a strange sounding word – havoc." Clearly, Ron had missed the seriousness of this conversation. "What exactly is a havoc, anyway? And why do you wreak it? Why doesn't anyone say they're doing havoc. You know … 'he's out there doing havoc'. Really," he continued, in a fake, high-pitched voice, "doing havoc, you say? How terribly awful."

"Focus Ronald," Hermione admonished, but as she turned away, there was a slight smile on her face.

"I'm just saying. How do we really even know when havoc has been wreaked? What if it's only been messed with a bit. Terribly sorry, chap," he said, this time in a strangely formal voice that almost sounded like Percy, "but you seem to have scuffed up your havoc a smidge."

By this point, Ginny was openly laughing, and Harry was having trouble deciding if he wanted to join in the laughter or hold on to his gloomy attitude. Hermione, however, gave reigning Ron in one last try. "You're missing the point, Ron. Harry's worried that he's not going to find the Horcruxes in time to stop Voldemort from hurting more people he cares about. Aren't you Harry?"

"Well, yeah," he answered, caught off guard by the question. He'd just about decided to go with laughter when Hermione redirected his attention. "I need to–ufff," he cut off as Ginny elbowed him in the ribs, "_we_ need to stop him, but how can we when we haven't a clue about the remaining Horcruxes? If we don't find them, he wins. And if he wins, I lose."

"Look mate," Ron said, straightening up as he did so, "all kidding aside, you're wound too tight." At Harry's incredulous look, he continued, "It's not like we haven't faced horrible odds before. We faced a mountain troll with a levitation spell. We fought an army of spiders with a broken wand. Not to mention escaped criminals, Slytherins, and deranged professors. Doesn't matter what we face, or what the odds, somehow we make it work. No point stressing over it."

"Not exactly how I would have said it, but Ron's got a point, Harry," Hermione added. "We'll find a way … we always do. So we can't find the Horcruxes. Maybe there's another way to counter them. I mean, if magic can create them, magic should be able to destroy them. Maybe … maybe I should start researching that. Do you know who first created them? I could start by researching that wizard, see if he had a nemesis that might have worked on a magical way to destroy them. Or we could look into the ultimate fates of wizards that have created a Horcrux in the past. Because, they aren't around anymore, are they? So obviously, their Horcruxes were defeated somehow. There might be a clue there if we could –"

"Hermione!" Harry called out to interrupt his friend, "those are great ideas, but I don't think there's a lot of written history on Horcruxes. Seba told me last year that all those books had been banned materials at Hogwarts before he even got here, not that it was always enforced. If it had been, Tom Riddle would have never found out about them. When he became Headmaster he had all the banned books removed from the library–"

"They kept banned books in the library?" she asked, horrified by the very idea.

"Yeah. Stupid, right? So he had them moved to a protected bookcase in his office. We looked through them together last year, and the only thing they mention is to physically destroy the Horcrux. There is no other way."

"Well," she bravely continued, "no other way that the authors know of. But there just has to be, Harry. Look, we know Voldemort used magic to move his sawol from his snake to your award. That proves magic can affect a Horcrux. It's the whole basis behind trying to save the Founders' heirlooms. Logically, if the sawols can be moved by magic, they can be destroyed by magic. We just need to figure out the right magic."

"Ah, not to sound stupid or anything," Ron piped in, "but what's a sawol?"

"It's the part of the soul that is split from the whole and moved into a designated object in order to create the Horcrux," Hermione explained.

"Perfect textbook explanation," Ron grumbled.

"Oh, my," Hermione suddenly perked up. "Harry … your book. Slytherin talked quite a bit about sawols in his journal. Remember, we even talked about the likelihood that he'd researched a way to mend the soul. Maybe we should give that book a more thorough going over."

Everyone agreed that it was a good plan (some more enthusiastically than others) and they headed to the boy's dorm room, as it was more private. Sitting with Ginny on his bed, Harry pulled the journal and an empty ink bottle from his bag. He did some fancy wand waving and transfigured the bottle into a small work table. Ron and Hermione hopped onto the bed, crowding around so they could all see, and Harry plopped the temperamental journal onto the table.

"Open it to any page, Harry," Hermione told him, and he did so, turning the book slightly so it faced her.

With some fancy wand waving of her own, Hermione commanded, "Invenio sawol, Invenio die Seele." She tapped the book forcefully after each phrase, and both times the pages of the book seemed to pulse. Seeing the strange looks her friends were giving her, she sighed as she explained, "it's a word-search spell. It magically marked every instance of the words 'sawol' and 'die Seele'. I noticed during the summer that he used the German name for the soul, but the Latin name for the piece of soul. Very strange. I'm beginning to think he had some mental deficiency. That would certainly explain the basilisk."

Ignoring the glares coming from the boys, she tapped the book again and said "show me sawol", and the book's pages turned themselves back toward the front of the book. Looking down, everyone could see one word standing out from the rest, appearing as if it had been marked by a Muggle highlighter. At Harry's questioning look, Hermione explained that the book was unharmed and the spell could be cancelled at any time.

She had Harry flip through the book, and sure enough, there were dozens and dozens of highlighted references. "Well, that's far more than I'd expected, but certainly not impossible. Best go back to the front, Harry."

Harry did so (skipping what they'd previously done) before summoning reference books and parchment from his trunk, and they spent the rest of the evening translating. It was tiresome work, because four people working from one book in tight quarters was pushing everyone's comfort zones. They hadn't even finished the second such reference when Dean and Seamus arrived for bed, but what they found held great promise. So much so that Hermione promised to find time every day to work on the translations – forcing the other three to commit their time as well.

They all headed to their own beds feeling energized. Well, Harry felt energized; Hermione was best described as giddy. New research projects had that effect on her. Ginny was hopeful they would find something useful, and Ron was … well, he was Ron. Once the girls had gone, he shared with Harry that he was happy they might have found a short cut. "But Hermione being that excited can only lead to trouble, mate," he'd added.

The others had long fallen to sleep in their own beds while Harry tossed and turned into the night. At first, he'd had strange dreams about diaries and lockets coming to life – growing in size, sprouting fangs and running on short, fat legs – and chasing his friends around the castle. But that quickly morphed into flashes of a murky forest and a tall, thin figure of a man with two elongated and pointed teeth speaking in a language Harry knew he didn't know even though he understood perfectly that the vampire was agreeing to help.

Jerking awake, Harry took a moment to catch his breath. Flopping back on his pillow, he let out a long sigh, realizing he'd forgotten to take his sleeping pill. He hated sharing minds with Voldemort; but at least he could warn Albus that Tom's latest plan had something to do with vampires.

Feeling restless, he climbed out of bed and quickly dressed. He didn't have the Marauder's Map (Albus had it this year for added security) but he still had his father's invisibility cloak and he knew the route by heart. At 2:30 in the morning it was late enough that even Professor Snape would be in bed so he knew he wouldn't run into anyone anyway. Twenty minutes later, he let himself into the kitchen and wasn't too surprised to find several house elves bustling around, scrubbing and polishing the long tables that corresponded to those in the Great Hall.

He stood near the door, not sure if he should interrupt, when the decision was taken from him. "Harry Sir has come to wish Dobby a happy morning," said a chipper voice from behind him, and Harry turned to find Dobby coming toward him from a miniature wooden doorway covered in strange wiggly carvings, obviously built specifically the fit the short bodies of the house elves.

While Dobby appeared as alert as ever, Harry wondered if his own arrival had somehow roused the elf, for Dobby was clearly dressed for sleep. Gone were his shrunken Weasley jumper, jogging shorts, knit hats and mismatched socks. Instead, the elf was wearing children's footy pajamas, the type that zipped up the front, covering his body from neck to toe in bright blue material. As Dobby stepped closer, Harry was able to see that what he'd thought were just silly yellow shapes were actually cute smiling cartoon ducks.

"Er … nice pajamas, Dobby."

"Headmaster Sir gave them to Dobby last winter when he heard that Dobby was getting too cold at night. As if Dobby is important enough to keep warm. Your Headmaster Sir is a great Wizard too Harry Potter. He is being nearly as great as you is."

Harry watched as the elf suddenly twirled around on one foot, showing off his coveted sleepwear, and a sudden thought sprung into his mind.

"Dobby," he began, "I hope I didn't wake you, but you're just the person I wanted to see."

Dobby stopped spinning (and he nearly fell over, he'd made himself so dizzy) and wobbled closer. "Dobby is all ears, Harry Sir," he said, using both hands to pull his ears up in emphasis.

"Right … I was wondering, Dobby, if you could do me a favor …"

-000-

Harry was waiting for Ginny in the Common Room, slouched in a big cushy chair half asleep. He'd gotten very little rest last night, and he was hoping for a few extra moments of peace before the fire and brimstone began to fall.

A few minutes ago a loud shriek had echoed down from the girl's dorms. It was the kind of shriek that you not only heard, but felt; hitting your skin on the back of your neck and traveling down your spine. He'd heard such a shriek once before, the night he'd literally burned Voldemort right out of Professor Quirrell's body. This time, it didn't sound quite as friendly.

The Dursley's, it is worth noting, were never an overly religious family. But on the rare occasion that they felt the need to attend church, Petunia had insisted Harry come along. Looking back, he rather imagined she was hoping he'd be struck down by lightening for daring to soil God's House with his freakishness. But right now, he was desperately trying to recite a fancy-worded prayer for mercy he half-remembered from those trips.

"POTTER!" screamed a voice that was much too close for comfort. He cracked open one eye, flinching at the sight of the red-haired angel of justice that hovered before him. She was judging his very soul with her penetrating eyes, and he knew for certain she was finding it lacking.

"What the devil were you thinking, sending that-that perverted elf to watch me? I was in the shower, Potter. In … the … shower! What possible reason could you have had to send that … er, him, to watch me shower?"

'_Oh Dobby__!'_ Luckily, his training had taught him to be quick with the wand, and two words into her rant he'd cast Muffliato so no one knew about the accidental voyeurism. Sitting upright, he tried to reason with her – plead for his soul, really. "He wasn't supposed to follow you into the shower, Ginny … he's just supposed to keep an eye on you." – _'Oh Merlin, now she's tapping her foot'_ – "I just thought- "

"No Potter, you didn't think, you bloody git. You're supposed to treat me like an equal – remember?"

"Of course I rem—"

"Do you remember how well he kept you safe in your second year? Bludger to the arm, wasn't it? Lost all the bones and had to grow them back, if I remember correctly."

"Now, in all fairness, that part was Lockhart's doing," he tried to reason.

"Harry—"

"_Ginny_. Listen." He stood and grabbed her hands, rubbing them lightly with his thumbs. "I couldn't handle it if anything were to happen to you right now. I honestly think I'm at my limit. So just humor me, alright? I'll talk to Dobby and explain that he's not to follow you into the showers. I promise."

Maybe it was the sincerity of his voice, maybe it was the worry clear in his eyes, or maybe it was the simple truth that she might in fact be the next target, but whatever it was, she relented with a sigh. "Make it any restroom, Harry … and he disappears any time I'm with you. And he'd best not be a nuisance or bother me during class … or at all really."

"You'll never even know he's there," Harry lied, pulling his girlfriend close for a make-up kiss.

It didn't take long for Ginny to realize just how good a liar Harry was. Every time she complained about Dobby, he'd promise it wouldn't happen again. "He won't go through your laundry any more," he'd sworn exactly three days before she found the little pest petting one of her fuzzier socks. "He absolutely will keep out of the way during your classes," he'd assured her the very same morning Dobby vanished her calming draught because it was bubbling too much. And no matter how many times Harry swore the elf would stay out, she was certain that she'd spotted those droopy ears in the mirror of a restroom room on more than one occasion.

She would pout, and complain, and even threw things once or twice, but somehow he always managed to convince her he'd handle it, and it wouldn't happen again. She suspected it had something to do with how he made it up to her every time, but she tried not to dwell on that too much. As November marched on, the elf's behavior did get better – or perhaps she just became so used to it that she stopped questioning it. Either way, she actually found herself becoming rather attached to the strange little creature that had started referring to her as 'Harry Potter's Missus'.

-000-

Translating Slytherin's journal wasn't going as smoothly as Hermione had predicted; and not only because of his strange way of combining languages or the book's habit of snapping shut if Hermione so much as bumped it. The friends' busy schedules made it near impossible for them to get together with sufficient time to work on it. The promise of 'every day' had quickly turned into the reality of 'whenever we can squeeze it in'.

After dinner one such evening they gathered to give translating another go. While Hermione organized her books, Ron produced the latest letter from home, which he'd received that morning but had forgotten to read. By now they already knew that Charlie was home with his parents, meaning Grimmauld Place, of course. This letter from Molly let them know he'd been released from his healer's care and was looking forward to seeing everyone at Christmas.

"Good news, that," Ron had cheerfully announced as he tossed the letter aside.

Hermione looked unsure but didn't say anything, and neither did Harry or Ginny. Instead, they turned their attention to a sheet of parchment full of scribbled notes.

The four tried their best, but tonight was destined to be a lost cause. It was the first full moon after Remus' disappearance, and the teens were all too aware that hidden in her rooms, probably armed with tissues and ice cream, the pregnant Tonks was watching the sky from moonrise to moonset.

As the first of the silvery rays filtered into the Common Room, the foursome set aside all work for the night (although Hermione put up a token resistance to that), and sat around the fire sharing 'remember when' stories about Remus. The stories eventually centered on Third Year, and with a bit of prodding from Harry, Hermione gave a thrilling telling of their one encounter with Moony.

Somehow, word spread that they were telling creature stories - it might've had something to do with Hermione's realistic howling - and pretty soon the rest of the Seventh Years and a good portion of the Sixth Years joined the group. Other, younger students moved closer to the crowd, trying to listen without appearing like they were listening.

Seamus re-enacted the time he almost ran into a vampire while visiting his cousin, going so far as to make up different voices for the other people. One of Ginny's roommates told about a close call with a mummy at a museum in France.

"That's nothing," Neville said, "my Great Uncle Algie swears he once battled a wookilar over a wheel of cheese." Seeing everyone's confused looks, he explained. "you know … a wookilar … a half-man half-pig monster with fang-like tusks … like to sneak up on people and suck their brains out through their ears and turn their fingers into jewelry. They'll do almost anything to get their claws on cheese made from dragon's milk. But Uncle Algie subdued him using Transmogrifian Torture and got away."

Nodding as if he understood, Harry made a mental note to find out if Uncle Algie's last name was really Longbottom or if perhaps it was Lovegood or maybe even Lockhart, or – _Merlin forbid_ – Lovegood-Lockhart.

The unplanned story time broke up before it got too late and everyone made it to breakfast on time the next morning. Except Tonks, Harry noticed; she didn't make it at all. Soon enough the morning owls flew in and between bites of fried tomatoes and sausage Harry and Hermione flipped through copies of the Daily Prophet. They were looking for any reports of werewolf activity, but there was nothing. Not even a suspected sighting.

Harry wasn't sure how to take the news, and he explained his reasoning to his friends. "On one hand, it means that Voldemort didn't somehow force Remus to attack and kill, which I'd been worried might happen. But on the other hand … if that isn't his game, what is?"

"Or is Remus even still alive?" Hermione was brave enough to voice. It was a solemn group that headed to their classes that morning.

There was no spoken agreement, but after that full moon the group re-doubled their efforts to translate Slytherin's journal, letting other, less important things slide. There wasn't any guarantee they'd find anything useful, but for Harry at least, translating the book was _doing something_ about those lost Horcruxes. He was tired of waiting for the bleeding things to just appear. He knew Hermione understood and probably, secretly, agreed. She was as determined as he was to find something useful in the journal.

Unfortunately, nothing they'd translated to date was the silver bullet they were searching for, although several sections had contained little clues that they were on the right track.

"Here's something interesting," Hermione said one afternoon. "He goes into how splitting one's soul is unnatural and a danger to the stability of a pureblood society. Not because of the evil required to make one, mind you. No, he feared the offspring of a person with a Horcrux would have unstable magic. He ends it by saying 'I must find a way to mend a tattered soul in order to save the sanctity of pure magic'. What a bigoted, conceited, narrow-minded, blood-obsessed vampire wanna-be," Hermione had huffed.

"I wouldn't get too bent out of shape," Harry countered. "His purity mania might just save wizardkind from Voldemort."

That effectively quieted her mumbling. For about two minutes.

Ron's off-hand prediction that Hermione's obsession with the book could only lead to trouble came true after dinner a few days later. Motioning the others to a table in the Common Room, she cast a quick Muffliato as she explained.

"This is going to take forever. There are just too many references, and each one can take an hour or more to completely translate and so far most of them are just incomplete thoughts. I was wondering if there was any way to narrow it down a bit, and I realized … all the entries in the journal are dated."

"Well it is a diary," Ron pointed out.

Giving him a dark look, Hermione continued, "We need a time reference. We should look into dark wizards from Slytherin's time, particularly anyone who survived something that should have killed them or lived a overly long life, which are both signs of a Horcrux. From the way he writes I get the feeling he had first-hand experience. So, I thought, if we can find when such a wizard was defeated, we'll know what part of the journal to concentrate on."

"That makes sense," Ginny said.

"Glad you think so, Ginny," Hermione replied, ignoring the way Ron was rolling his eyes, "because I was hoping you could research around the time Hogwarts was founded. Ron," she added as she turned to him, "you need to focus on Slytherin's personal history. Look into people he worked with or had contact with - even the other Founders. As unlikely as they are, we have to be thorough. This should get you started." She placed a tattered and moldy looking leather-bound book in front of him.

"I knew it was just a matter of time until she started assigning homework," Ron whispered to Harry, causing him to choke back his laughter when Hermione glanced his way.

To her, Ron said, "how do we even know he ever found anything? For all we know, this is a mad pixie chase."

"Do you have any better ideas?" she shot back.

Ron cautiously opened the book with just the tip of one finger. "There Were More Than Four. How is this supposed to help us destroy Horcruxes? And where did you find this anyway … Myrtle's bathroom?"

"I found it in the storage cupboard in the Potions classroom, if you must know. And," she added in a quieter voice, even though the spell made it unnecessary, "I didn't exactly ask to borrow it, if you catch my meaning … so you might not want to wave that around. I figured you were the safest, since you never study around Professor Snape."

Ron flicked a crusty spot on the open page in a suspicious manner, causing Hermione to tut at him and explain. "It's a book about other wizards and witches that were connected to the founding of Hogwarts. Think about it ... Slytherin wasn't trying to counter a Horcrux on a lark. He had someone in mind when he started his research, I'm certain of it, and that person had to be connected to him somehow."

"Oh joy," he flatly said. "I get to read a crusty old book about a bunch of dead people. So where's Harry's moldy book?"

"Harry will be working with me to continue translating the journal. Even if Slytherin didn't figure out how to mend a soul, it could still have useful information. And don't give me that look – you know I have issues touching it, and Harry's the only one that can open the book. If either of you find any clues you need to let us know right away so we can cross check them with the journal."

Ron might have argued more, but Harry reminded him they had Quidditch practice. "You know what the Captain said - if you're late again you do twenty laps without your broom." Then he bolted from the room before Ron could respond.

Unfortunately, this step-up in their research, when added onto everyone's already busy schedules, started to leave the friends frazzled. Hermione actually cut back on her homework; her essay's were exactly the required length these days. Ginny's stress revealed itself in the form extra-aggressive behavior. Harry accepted (welcomed) it when it was just the two of them, but at Quidditch practice she'd managed to send one of the Beaters to the Hospital Wing with three broken fingers. Ron seemed to be holding up alright, perhaps because he was the least busy of the four. Although, to be fair, he'd drastically cut back on his chess playing and doodling.

Harry had thought he was juggling everything well until Padma stormed up to him in a corridor and chewed him out for missing two consecutive meetings for the Yule Ball committee. She threatened to complain to the Headmaster if he didn't get his act together. Knowing how disastrous that would be, he agreed to put off his Potions essay so they could get the work done.

That Friday, as Ginny and Harry were working together in the Common Room on their Arithmancy homework – she was technically ahead of him in the subject – Ginny pointed out a mistake he'd made which rendered his entire paper a waste of time. Frustrated, feeling that nothing was going right for him, Harry picked up his textbook and chucked it across the table and into the burning fire. Ginny was able to retrieve it before it became terribly singed, not that Harry noticed. He'd slumped forward, dropping his head into his arms on the table.

"Right then," she said, snapping her own book shut. She stood, pulling him up with her. "Dobby – oh, I know you're here somewhere," she called out, and seconds later he crawled meekly out from under their work table, "please pack up our things and take them to our dorms. Harry and I are heading out for a bit, so you get the rest of the night off. Why don't you go iron my socks or something."

Harry shot his girlfriend a dirty look, but its effect was ruined when Dobby perked up and thanked her profusely for the task, promising her the flattest, freshest socks in the castle.

"Come on lover," she whispered as she took his hand and pulled him out of the Common Room.

"Hermione's supposed to be meeting us in half an hour," he protested, even as he took the lead. He knew exactly where they were headed – their secret hideaway. They'd made precious little use of it thus far this year, and the anticipation of what they would do when they got there was making the walk rather uncomfortable.

They entered the room to find the Lady of the Lounge missing from her painted garden seat. This was a good thing, because if she'd been there tonight, Harry was sure he'd have ripped her painting from the wall with his bare hands. Once safely ensconced in their private room there was very little talking, and very little clothes, and when Ginny whispered that she'd taken a certain potion, there was very little restraint.

In the words of that worthless pamphlet Harry had gotten from Doctor Bombay the year before, they were 'partaking in the carnal delights'. In Ron's words, heard through the heavy wooden door, which had just opened part way only to be slammed shut, "THEY'D BETTER ONLY BE SNOGGING – NOW OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR HERMIONE!"

Startled by the sudden noise, Harry pulled away from Ginny, looking down at her with an expression that clearly said "I love you. I'm dead."

For as long as Harry and Ginny lived, neither could ever explain how it was that when Ron strong-armed his way into their room less than a minute later, they were both fully clothed. At least, as far as the naked eye could tell. Mad-Eye would have spotted the missing under things in a heart beat – but his magical eye had been buried with his body. Another great mystery never solved was the fate of said underclothes. So clothed – yes; but unfortunately, also still entwined in a fairly provocative position.

Ron stomped several steps into the room, taking in the sight of his sister stretched out on a couch, his supposed best mate kneeling in between her legs, both looking guilty as sin. Their wands were lying together on the floor, completely out of reach. Noticing this, Ron brandished his own wand in a menacing manner. "You two had better have a really good explanation."

"Ron, you prat," Ginny shouted, somehow managing to appear menacing herself despite her horizontal position. "We were—"

"We were just having some fun," Harry cut in, turning his upper body to face his friend. He considered climbing off the couch, but doing so would have given Ron clear aim at a rather delicate part of his anatomy.

While this little exchange was taking place, Hermione had stepped into the room and locked the door with the strongest charm she knew. Turning her attention to the others, she quickly realized that right then, Harry would be safer in Voldemort's company. Being the great friend that she was, she made a split-second decision to save him.

"Ron," she gently began as she placed a hand on his shoulder from behind.

Ron turned his attention away from his target, and Hermione chose that moment to attack.

With the speed of a seeker going for the snitch she spun Ron to face her, moved her hand to the back of his neck, and pulled, forcing his head closer. Before he had even worked out that Hermione was touching him in a familiar manner, she brought her lips up to his and kissed him.

It was a very short kiss; and when she was finished, she stepped back slightly to look into his face. His cheeks and forehead were bright red, making his freckles stand out; his mouth was hanging slightly open; his eyes had a glassy, far-away look; and his brows were wrinkled in that familiar way that happened whenever he was confused.

Forgotten on the couch, Harry had fallen back so he was now sitting on the heels of his feet. He'd known it would happen eventually … he just hadn't expected to witness the event. Ginny was propping up on her elbows, eager to see more of the show.

For a moment, Ron moved as if to bend forward and kiss Hermione back. Then he straightened up, remembering he'd been doing something important. Then he glanced back to the couch, and he started to frown again.

Ever the faithful friend, Hermione grabbed Ron again. This time, she put her heart into it and snogged Ron for all she was worth. Eventually, he got into the act and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight.

Harry and Ginny decided to make use of Hermione's sacrifice by grabbing their wands and sprinting from the room. Harry was even thoughtful enough to re-lock the door behind them.

Two corridors away, Ginny burst into a fit of giggles which got Harry laughing. "I can't believe she finally did it," Ginny managed between chuckles.

"I can't believe I had to see that," Harry countered. "That first kiss was bad enough, but then she just kept going at it. Honestly, now I know why he gets upset when we kiss in front of them."

"I just hope Hermione washes her mouth out when she's done," Ginny added. Moving closer, she leaned into him and whispered, "But you know, they're probably going to be busy for a while. How about we find ourselves another room – I don't think we were done."

Oddly enough, even with their detour to the Divination classroom (having decided the Room of Requirement was too obvious and remembering how comfy the pouffes in Trelawney's classroom were) they managed to beat Ron and Hermione back to the Common Room. When the other two arrived, a good twenty minutes after curfew, they found Harry and Ginny squished together in an armchair near the boys' staircase.

Ron hesitated, undecided if he should be angry or embarrassed. Hermione made his choice for him by taking tighter hold of his hand and dragging him over to the others. "Ron's asked me to the Yule Ball," she blurted out as soon as they were close.

"Well done, mate," Harry said, while Ginny just smirked.

"Yeah," Ron replied, "seemed the thing to do."

Hermione turned on him. "Oh, nice Ronald."

"I … er …"

Taking pity on her new boyfriend, she cracked a smile as she told him, "It's alright. At least this time you already knew I was a girl." With an evil grin she added, "You do know I'm a girl, right?"

"Er … yeah … proved that one for myself."

At this point, Harry felt he had two choices. Either revisit his dinner or change the subject. "So, Ron … how exactly did you find us? I didn't think anyone but us knew about that room."

"Oh," Ron stalled, "we … well … it was easy, see. There's this map of the middle tower that has a room on it marked as Harry Potter's Secret Room. Not the smartest way to label a secret room, if you ask me."

"How'd you get a map like that? I thought I had the only one hidden in my book bag."

Ron snorted. "Nicked it, of course. I'd have thought you'd spent enough time around the twins to understand that all's fair in family and pranking."

"Listen all," Ginny butted in, "I've been thinking. I know we all want to finish that journal, but I think we've been pushing ourselves too hard. How about we agree that we'll allow ourselves some down time, otherwise we'll crack under the pressure."

Surprisingly enough, Hermione was the first to agree, conceding that she'd felt horrible that her schoolwork was slipping, which was odd, since she was still getting O's on everything. Thus decided, the friends reluctantly went back to the homework they'd blown off earlier.

And so life continued in the castle with the friends always busy, but no longer too busy to relax and enjoy life.

It was right at the end of November when Ginny practically pounced on Harry as he returned from yet another Yule Committee meeting. "I think I found something," she chirped, not even giving him a chance to say hello. "It was in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, believe it or not. Not long after Hogwarts opened a dark wizard named Tomas Doscara was defeated – well, not really defeated … see, he died quite accidentally when he choked on a zagnut. But according to the book, he was known for acting like he was invincible. Sounds like he might have had a _thing_, you know?"

"Hey," Ron piped up from behind Harry, "I think I know that name. He was mentioned a lot in that moldy old book 'Mione gave me. Didn't say he was dark, though, but he was opposed to opening Hogwarts. He was afraid that the Founders would somehow be able to rule the Wizarding world if they controlled its education."

"Wow, Ron," Ginny had to say, "I'm impressed. I had no idea you could remember that many words at one time."

Harry cut Ron's reply off by saying, "Hermione's using Seba's library right now, working on her other pet project. So why don't you show me what you found and maybe we can match up dates between your book and the journal. Sounds like that's a good area to translate."

"You'll have to do it without me," Ginny told him as she handed over the book, "I've got Herbology study group in twenty minutes. I really should have dropped it after OWLs."

That Sunday afternoon, when homework was finished and chess became monotonous, the gang was finally able to work on the journal together again. After matching up dates from Ginny's research, they were focusing on a particular section closer to the end. Harry was reading out the highlighted passages and helping Ginny translate the Latin and Old English, Hermione was translating the German and acting as scribe, and Ron was balanced on the edge of a nearby table trying to juggle gobstones and occasionally saying things like "sounds right" and "you sure, Hermione?"

Harry was stumbling through the pronunciation of yet another convoluted sentence when Hermione interrupted. "Harry … say that last sentence again."

"Er … it says Ic nunc puto beliefe…dass es m-m-moeglich ist eine ge-brochene Seele reparare."

"Well, that was easily understood, mate," Ron cheerfully added, just before dropping one of his gobstones onto the floor where it exploded all over his shoes.

"No, that was actually pretty good, considering he doesn't know the languages," Ginny defended. "What do you think Hermione?"

But Hermione was ignoring the lot, instead repeating the phrase to herself. "Die Seele – we know that's the soul. But gebrochene, I think – it certainly sounds like…" and she trailed off as she furiously flipped pages in a book. "YES! Brechen means to break … so gebrochene must be some form of it. Broken, maybe? That's so obvious, I mean, it even sounds almost the same. Break to broken … brechen to gebrochene. He's talking about a broken soul. I think we're getting closer."

Ginny had grabbed the book away from Harry and was rereading the passage for herself. "And the word at the end ... reparare … that's Latin for repair, everyone that takes Charms should know that."

With Ron taking over as scribe so Hermione could juggle three books, they eventually worked out the sentence, which Harry read aloud. "I now fully believe that it is possible to repair a broken soul."

Excitedly, Hermione grabbed the journal, and after it snapped shut on her fingers and Harry reopened it, she did another word search charm, this time for the phrase 'Seele reparare.' A second spell told her that the phrase had been found about a dozen times, all after this page. Quickly flipping to one of the last instances, she scanned the area around the phrase. "Harry, this talks of laurus … success."

For a moment, all were silent. Harry looked from girl to girl, a slow smile appearing on his face.

"It's in here somewhere – it's got to be," Hermione said in a quiet voice that hid her excitement, though the blazing eyes rather gave it away. "There is a way … we'll find it, and Voldemort won't know what hit him."

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Hermione's word search spell, Invenio, is Latin meaning 'find'. Works pretty much like the 'Find' command in a word processor.

The Wookilar is taken from the movie The Private Eyes. About the Yule Ball – it's being held the Saturday before Christmas so kids can still go home for the holidays. Different than in GOF, I know, but in these troubled times, Albus felt being with family was important.

Readers of my anthology should have recognized the "accidental evil" that Harry performed via Dobby.

Here's how that passage translates … and thanks to ObiBettina7 for helping, even though I then completely slaughtered what she gave me. (I promised you I'd use it eventually!) Grammar mistakes were ignored.

_I now fully believe that it is possible to repair a broken soul._

Ic – Old English - 'I'  
nunc puto – Latin - 'now fully believe'  
beliefe – Old English - 'believe'  
dass es moeglich ist – German - 'that it is possible'  
eine gebrochene Seele – German - 'a broken soul'  
reparare – Latin - 'to repair' (from the HP Lexicon)


	30. The Rite or Wrong Idea

Own Harry Potter I do not. Crazy must you be, if think that you do.

**. **

**.**

**Chapter 30. The Rite or Wrong Idea**

The true beginning of Winter was something the Muggles regularly argued, but Mother Nature never worried about anything as petty as the date. An early storm had brought a flurry of snow to the mountains, and the castle awoke one Saturday morning to a world of glittering white beauty.

Sitting on a window seat in Albus' quarters, Harry watched, mesmerized, as large flakes continued to fall from the sky. It was peaceful, watching the snow fall through the frosted window. In fact, for the first time since Hermione had declared _"it's in here somewhere"_ all those days ago, he felt himself letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

He'd come up to the apartment for a meeting, but found himself waiting alone as Albus tried to convince his brother that yes, water was in fact a necessary component in bathing. To say Abe was adjusting to living with his brother was like saying wood adjusted to fire, but Albus was trying his best to make life peaceful. Harry suspected massive amounts of calming draughts were being employed.

Laughing as he caught part of Abe's rant – "if that ain't pond water then why is there a duck floatin' in it?" – he turned back to his window. He was counting how many snowflakes landed on one pane of glass when a hand gently touched his arm. Flinching in surprise, he nearly pulled his wand, but the soft chuckling behind him stayed his hand.

"Whilst we await the others, and before I am guilty of forgetting to mention something earth shattering, I must inform you that the search of Little Hangleton was completed by William and myself. I am sorry to say that neither Tom Riddle the First's grave nor the Riddle manor house contained any hidden treasures. We can scratch those locations off our list."

Even though he hadn't expected them to find anything, it was a disappointment. Two more places coming up empty meant two less places on their list. It was becoming increasingly unlikely they would find the missing Horcruxes – Hufflepuff's Cup and Harry and Ron's Award – any time soon.

Albus moved to a nearby chair and Harry turned his back to the window so they could continue their conversation more comfortably. "William Weasley, it turns out, has yet again proven himself to be a valuable addition to our team," Albus admitted. "Prior to our search, he actually went to the village offices and researched ownership of the property. He didn't want us to be caught housebreaking, or worse, surprised by new residents. What he found was quite interesting. The first Tom Riddle's father – Voldemort's grandfather – appears to have known something of his son's misdeeds. In his will, he acknowledged he had a grandson and stated said child would have an equal share in the estate. Of course, since his son Tom had no other children, the entire estate was passed on to –"

"Voldemort."

"Precisely. And – as hard as it is to believe – he has actually claimed the property. For the life of me, I cannot figure out how he managed to do so. Clearly he couldn't have appeared in his current state; the Muggles would have considered him some kind of monster. Not to mention it would have required transacting with Muggles, something I cannot see him doing. Yet it is equally unlikely that he would have sent one of his followers to claim his Muggle inheritance. Ah … but Tom was always resourceful. The greater mystery, I suspect, is why he would even want the property."

"Don't know … don't care," Harry answered as he glanced at the clock. "Are we going to be starting soon?"

"Suddenly concerned about missing class time?" Albus asked, his eyes full of childish mischief. "Soon enough, I promise. Severus has information to share regarding the Endless Slumber potion which I would like Kingsley to hear, as I fear Minister Bluestreak might also be a target for the potion. They are both running late, but surely we can entertain ourselves until they arrive."

Harry agreed, and the two spent the next half hour playing Exploding Snap, and Harry was pleased to see his guardian was better at this than he was ten-pin bowling. Between plays, Albus would ask Harry about his classes and extra activities and Harry pumped Albus for Christmas hints.

Kingsley was the first to arrive, and he entered the room sufficiently impressed with his surrounding. "Hello Harry," he greeted, not the least bit surprised to see him. "Good day, Albus. Nice place you have here. I always wondered where the staff lived when I was a student here, but somehow I pictured the rooms to be more drab and academic. Maybe I should've taken that teaching post instead of sending Tonks."

"I do hope you don't mind meeting here, but with Aberforth under the weather—"

"Say no more, Albus. I helped care for my great-grandmother when she was ill, so I understand completely. How is the old goat, anyway?"

"As contrary as ever, and rather vocal in his displeasure over not being allowed alcohol. Now, can I get you anything while we wait for Severus?" Motioning Kingsley toward a wing back chair near Harry, he clapped his hands and a tray appeared on a nearby table.

It only took another ten minutes for Snape to arrive. He blustered into the room with nothing more than a curt nod in the general direction of the others. Wordlessly, he grabbed a cup and poured himself tea, to which he added more sugar than Harry thought possible to add to one cup. Snape downed the drink in one go, then set the empty cup aside and moved to stand so he was in front of the other three.

"As you know Albus, I delivered six vials of the Endless Slumber potion to the Dark Lord last evening. Before I was dismissed he took the vials to another room, and when he returned he ordered me to seal them. While doing so I was able to examine the potion's color, smell, and consistency. A new ingredient should have affected it in some way, yet there was no noticeable change, leaving me to I believe he abandoned his plan to add something."

Albus took the news in wordlessly, only indicating with his hand that Snape should continue.

"While I was there, I informed him that you had ordered me to discover the whereabouts of your missing wolf. He gave nothing away, merely telling me that Lupin is staying with some old friends. Insomuch as the Dark Lord has no friends, I am uncertain what he meant, and it would have been unwise to question him further."

And with startling clarity, Harry suddenly recalled another conversation … _"__Harry,"__ Bill __had __explained__ in __a __soft __voice, __trying __not __to __upset __the __teenage __boy.__ "People _disappear_. __As __in, __we're __pretty __sure __they've __been __killed, __but __the __bodies __are __never __found." __And __then __Bill's __eyes __had __shifted __from__ Harry __to __the __murky __water, __and __Harry's __eyes __had__ followed__ … _and Harry knew where Remus was and what 'friends' he was with; and he wished he didn't.

Glancing his guardian's way – seeing the man's weary accepting nod – Harry was struck with the thought that Snape had confirmed what Albus already suspected. Albus looked as disturbed by the thought as he felt, and Harry decided he wouldn't, couldn't, burden his friends with this - not without proof. He'd keep it to himself for now.

"Very well, Severus," Albus replied in a tired voice. "I thank you for trying. Now, I trust that before handing over the Endless Slumber you were able to prepare the antidote?"

"I have indeed formulated the antidote, but we cannot test it without first feeding someone the potion. The obvious flaw being that if the antidote does not work, we're stuck with a Sleeping Beauty. Further, if the antidote does work and is used to revive one of the Dark Lord's victims, he will know how the Order came about the solution. My use as a spy would end."

"Fine enough, Severus," Albus told him. "I have faith in your abilities; I am certain it will work. Should we have need to use it, we shall keep the fact hidden for as long as possible."

"Anything else we need to know?" Kingsley asked.

"_Need_ to know? No." Snape sneered, although Harry could tell that Kingsley wasn't fazed. "But you may _want_ to know that I have a theory regarding the side effects of the potion. While a sleep of the dead is instantaneous, the mental incapacitation is not. The potion must slowly seep into the brain, which takes time in the hibernated state, before it can do its damage. I estimate a person could be under its influence for eight months, a year at most, before being mentally damaged to the point of no return.

"Good news indeed," Albus exclaimed, his joy at the news evident in his happy voice. Harry felt it would be better news if it took 10 years.

"Did he give you any indication when he plans to use the potion, Severus," Kingsley wanted to know.

"He shares nothing he does not have to, Shacklebolt. However, I feel he will test it in the near future so he can proceed with his plans for Potter. The boy is safe at least until then. Once I am informed that the test is complete, I will certainly pass the information on. And even then, the Dark Lord has made it clear that Potter is to be brought to him alive and well, so I do not think the boy needs to walk around with a permanent Bubble Head Charm, although it certainly couldn't hurt."

Kingsley wondered, "Wouldn't he eventually run out of air like that?"

Looking at the large man as if he'd just taken away his wand, Snape admitted, "I suppose that would be a concern." Turning back to Albus he added, "There is another concern. I believe the test will not be completed using some random, nameless wizard. While the Minister and Potter are momentarily safe, others are not. Order members and high-ranked Ministry officials are likely targets. I recommend the Order – and the Ministry – be on watch. Key targets should be prepared to defend against it."

"Defend against it how?"

"That would be your area of expertise, Shacklebolt, so I would suggest you get working on a solution."

Instead of being offended by the crass tone, Kingsley cracked a smile before politely thanking Snape for the information. As talk turned to other Order matters, Harry was allowed to head to class with a note from Albus.

He was distracted the rest of the morning, not even looking up when Ginny attempted to play footsie at lunch. He was trying to figure out how one protected ones self from an inhalant without compromising ones ability to breathe. Kingsley was correct – he couldn't run around using a Bubble Head Charm every minute of every day. And who exactly was Voldemort going to test the potion on?

He'd have probably stayed in his funk had it not been for Padma Patil, of all people. Right after the last class of the day he had what he fervently wished was the last Yule Committee meeting of his life, and while two Fifth Year prefects argued over serving dessert at the tables or setting up a buffet line, Padma leaned in and whispered, "So, I hear you had to witness the big event."

"Yeah. Honestly can't say which was worse," he added in a hushed voice, "Voldemort's rebirth or Hermione sucking Ron's tongue."

"Do you know who won the betting pool?"

"Zacharias Smith, believe it or not," Harry told her.

"That moron? I'm surprised Fred and George let him enter the pool."

"Even morons have galleons to spend, I guess. How'd you hear about my worst memory, anyway?"

"Oh, Hannah told me all about it in Herbology. She heard about it from Neville. They're back together, you know, and he's taking her to the ball. Hey, didn't he take your girlfriend to the last Yule Ball."

"Please don't bring up that disaster. I don't think I can ever apologize –"

"You don't need to apologize for Ron Weasley. It wasn't entirely your fault I went with him. And I wouldn't feel too bad for Parvati if I were you, either. She got to walk in with a Champion and sit at the head table. Believe it or not, she goes on about that night like it was the best date she ever had."

"You've got to be kidding," he replied. He'd always been under the impression that she'd been rather unhappy with him that night.

"Trust me, Harry. When she talks about her one date with you compared to her little romance with Weasley last year, you come off looking like Prince Charming."

"I guess I'll take that," Harry laughed.

Across the table, the vitally important decision had been reached. Hoping that was the last item, Harry started to gather his things, only for Padma to grasp his hand. "Now we need to discuss the party for the lower years." With a sigh, he slumped back in his seat.

Some Sixth Year idiot boy tried to nominate Harry to oversee the party, which was simply not going to happen. But it gave Harry an idea. Ron and Hermione had somehow both managed to avoid this torture, and while he could forgive Hermione (she was rather busy with her normal work and both her side projects), he didn't afford Ron the same leeway. Besides, he still owed him for all that teasing he'd endured the first week of classes.

With a sly smile, he replied, "thank you for your vote of confidence, but I'm afraid I already have my hands full. I think someone that's not already bogged down working on the Yule Ball should spearhead that one. I nominate Ron Weasley."

Catching his wink, Colin Creevey seconded the nomination, and it was quickly agreed upon.

When Harry returned to the Common Room, he cheerfully informed Ron of his new position. His friend tried to refuse, but Hermione had the final word. "You most certainly will do it, Ron. Otherwise I'll have to volunteer, and then when would I ever find time to spend with you?"

That Friday night, as the two boys tried to work on their Defense essays (_Describe__ the __One-Armed__ Defensive __technique,__ giving__ five__ examples__ of__ when__ to__ use__ it,__ and__ explain __why__ it__ should__ never__ be__ used__ against __a__ vampire_), Harry was surprised to hear that Ron had taken his job seriously and was planning a themed party open to any student not attending the ball. "That way, no Fourth Year has to worry about not finding a date – he can just go to my party instead."

Remembering how hard it had been to find a date Fourth Year, Harry thought that was a brilliant idea. "I'd have given my right eye for that option."

"First off, you were a Champion … you couldn't have gone anyway. And second, you can barely see out that eye, so that's not really giving up much there, mate."

Harry didn't respond verbally. He let his flying wad of parchment do his talking for him, which unfortunately lost its message when it bounced harmlessly off Ron's shoulder. Ron quickly scooped it up and tossed it back. Quick with his wand, Harry swooshed it sideways, calling Ron a prat as he did so.

The crumpled ball landed on Seamus' half-written essay, skidding across the still wet ink and smearing it horribly in places. Dean's laughter drown out Seamus' expletive, but Harry looked over in time to see the hand gesture that went with the word. "Sorry," he halfheartedly called out before turning back to Ron. "So what's this theme you came up with?"

"Okay … now don't laugh. Remember that Death Day party we went to Second Year?"

Harry nodded, hoping his friend wasn't planning to include half-rotted food or headless hunts.

"Well, I was thinking … we've got this castle full of ghosts, and they don't really get to enjoy the holidays anymore, see. Well, except Halloween, but that doesn't really count, now does it? So the theme is Ghosts of Christmas Past. Each ghost is going to organize a traditional activity from when they were alive. Nearly Headless Nick is going to teach everyone how to make Mistletoe candies using sugared mint leaves and candied cherries."

"Wow, Ron, that's brilliant. I think I'm impressed." Seeing the proud look on his friends face, he had to tease. "Are you sure you came up with that all by yourself?"

"Yeah, Harry," Ron replied, with just a bit of sarcasm in his voice, "believe it or not, I can think for myself."

From a table away, Dean's voice called out, "that's news to us – we though Hermione did all your thinking."

"No," Seamus instantly responded, "we thought your other brain did all your thinking. Isn't that why your notes from Charms have—"

Ron's aim with wadded parchment was much better than Harry's. Ignoring the others' laughter, he pointedly continued his conversation with Harry. "The best part is, the ghosts are doing most of the work. All I have to do is make sure we have plenty of supplies – and I've got some Fifth Year organizing that."

Harry had to hand it to his friend, he'd really stepped up; the younger students would have a great party to take their minds off the fancy ball they were missing. Although, he did wonder what Hermione's opinion was on using ghost labor … "so … are you paying the ghosts, then?"

Hermione entered the room just in time to save Harry from retaliation. He knew Ron wouldn't risk Hermione thinking he was goofing off instead of doing his work. By the time she reached their table, they were both hard at work.

With a loud sigh, Hermione dropped her armload of books on the table. "I'm so close I can feel it. When everyone else goes up, would you mind leaving me the journal, Harry?"

"No problem," he assured her as he got back to work on his essay.

-000-

Something wasn't right. That's the first thing Harry thought when he found himself suddenly awake. It hadn't been his alarm … nor Ron's snores, although those were loud enough to have done the trick … and it certainly wasn't dream or vision related. It was too dark inside his bed curtains to see anything, and he didn't have his glasses on anyway. He was just about to let his eyes fall shut and go back to sleep when he heard it.

"_Harry,__"_ the voice whispered from just outside his bed hangings. His half-awake mind registered two things: it sounded urgent and it sounded female. Propping himself up on his elbows, he was about to reach for his glasses when his hangings were pulled open and the glasses were thrust toward him.

He sat up straighter and slid them on. "Hermione?"

"We need to talk," she said, leaning close so as not to disturb the other boys.

"Hermione, it's …"

"Almost three, I know, but this couldn't wait."

"Right," he sighed. The moonlight coming into the room illuminated her face well enough for him to see the excitement dancing in her eyes. Clearly, she was about to explode from trying to hold in whatever she had to say. "Why don't you climb in and sit?" he asked as he pulled his legs up to make room. It was a sign of their friendship that neither thought anything untoward of the offer.

Once she'd made herself comfortable (with a firm pillow for back support) he cast an Imperturbable Charm to ensure privacy. He'd barely dropped his wand into his lap when she began.

"I found it, Harry. I found it. I almost couldn't believe it … I mean, from the last part we'd deciphered I knew we were close, but tonight I just flipped to a new section and … poof …it was there. Just like that. You'd all already headed to bed, so I decided to work on it by myself."

She'd been pulling parchment and books from her bag – which Harry hadn't even noticed previously – as she spoke. Unrolling a specific parchment, she practically pushed it into his hands. "Here … read it."

Looking at the top, he read, "Once bound it cannot be separated again, for too much magic would surely destroy it completely."

"No, no, below that," she fussed, jabbing her finger toward a specific spot.

"The Rite of Binding of Fractured Magic," he read.

"Remember … he thought that splitting one's soul made their magic unstable."

"Right," he absently agreed, and continued reading, "The Phoenix and the Basilisk, in perfect balance, Infused by the Essence of the Immortal, and Bound with the silk of the great Acromantula; When willingly taken, the End of Life brings the Gift of Mortality." Looking over at Hermione, he slowly said, "and that means…"

"It's instructions for a potion. The first part tells you how to make the potion, and the second part tells you what to do with it."

"So … we need a phoenix and a basilisk?"

"Don't be daft, Harry. Phoenix tears and basilisk venom – and in balance means an equal number of drops. Three of each, I should think. The silk from an Acromantula is self explanatory; it's a natural binding agent, though rarely used in the simple potions we make in class. It would stabilize the mixture, otherwise the tears and the venom would destroy each other. That bit about the essence of the immortal is trickier. Traditionally essence means lifeblood, which I admit would be rather hard to get, but not completely impossible."

Hearing that comment, Harry snorted, though thankfully she didn't notice. Had Hermione always been so overly optimistic?

Having not noticed Harry's amusement, Hermione barreled on. "That's really it for the potion. The problem is," she faltered, and Harry knew he wouldn't like what he heard next, "someone has to drink the potion. Willingly. And Harry … it's going to kill them. It's their death that somehow reconnects the soul. I'm sure that's what he means by 'end of life bringing the gift of mortality'. Once someone drinks the potion, and dies, Voldemort will be mortal again. The ritual will bind his entire soul together, regardless of the number or place of the pieces, and it will always be bound. So destroying the original – for lack of a better word – will automatically destroy all the Horcruxes, even if new Horcruxes were made after the ritual was performed."

Hermione had expected Harry to be as excited as she was. It was an amazing discovery, after all. Far surpassing discovering Flamel's claim to fame. So it's easy to understand her confusion at Harry's obvious lack of excitement. In fact, her friend had actually sagged back, slumping against his headboard as if that was the only thing keeping his body upright. "Harry?"

Glancing up, he assured her, "no … I'm fine … it's great news. Really it is."

"Really?" she asked, "because you're acting about as excited as Ron is every time he gets a new maroon jumper."

"It's just," he sighed, "I thought I had a chance to survive this thing, but now it appears I'll have to die after all. Like some sacrificial lamb. Bloody prophecy!" He thumped his fist into the mattress for emphasis.

"What are you, Cinderella? You turn into a drama queen at the stroke of midnight?" He shot her a sour look, but otherwise ignored her comment. "If you're thinking you have to be the one to drink the potion, you're wrong. Or have you forgotten the part where one of you has to die at the other's hand?"

"Okay – first off, I thought you didn't believe in prophecy as a matter of principle, so isn't it a bit wrong for you to be quoting it to me? And second … it still works. If I take my own life, and that act makes him killable, then he'll have died by my hand, from a certain point of view."

"From a certain point of view? Forget drama queen, after midnight you turn into Obi-Wan."

Ignoring the comment – which was easy since he'd never actually seen Star Wars – he countered, "But it's true! It doesn't have to be a literal interpretation. Look at that whole 'mark as an equal' part. He didn't really mark me. He cursed me – using a curse he'd used dozens of times before without it ever leaving a mark. It was just divine intervention that the curse backfired – and _that__'__s_ what marked me. So you have to read into it a bit. I take the potion – it makes him mortal – someone else kills him. The …" he paused for a second, picking up Hermione's parchment to read, "the end of my life would bring his mortality. It fits."

Hermione was shaking her head through his entire explanation. "I think you're wrong. There is no reason to believe you have to be the one to take the potion." Seeing the stubborn look on his face, she decided to try another tactic. "But we're getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren't we? I mean, you're completely missing a rather important point. We need some of Voldemort's blood to make the potion, and it's not like Professor Snape can just ask nicely for a sample the next time he's summoned."

Finally cracking a smile, he quipped, "Yeah, 'cause when does Snape ever do anything nicely?"

Hermione playfully swatted his knee, but didn't try to correct him. If it kept Harry from thinking he needed to kill himself, she'd let it slide.

Picking up the parchment, Harry read it over again, appearing deep in thought as he did so. "This is real?"

"As real as it gets … assuming we can believe Slytherin, which I think we can. I really can't see any reason he'd lie in his own journal; not when he went to so much trouble to keep others from being able to read it. He claims to have used the ritual five days before Doscara died by an accidental chocking that might not have been so accidental, if you get my meaning."

Harry chuckled, knowing that she was probably right. "Then I'm taking this to Seba. But Hermione, I need you to promise me two things."

"And what would those be?" she asked.

"You can't tell the others about this yet." She instantly began to argue, so he held up his hand for silence, which he gratefully got. "You can tell them you found a potion, and even that he used it successfully. Just don't mention the sacrifice, alright? I just … in case it does have to be me, I don't want them upset."

"It doesn't have to be you, Harry," she insisted.

"I know you think that, and you might be right. But let's wait to hear what the Headmaster has to say, yeah? Can you promise to keep it quiet?"

Thinking it over, she agreed, "Alright, I'll keep that part quiet, but only to keep you from looking like a troll's uncle when the Headmaster proves you're not the sacrifice. And the other promise?"

"Oh," he replied, covering a yawn with his hand, "well … now that you know how easy it is, you have to promise to never sneak into Ron's bed in the middle of the night – at least, not while I'm sleeping across from him."

For a moment, Harry worried that his charm didn't contain her outraged shriek; but Ron's snores never faltered. A few goodbyes and a promise from Harry to take the ritual to the Headmaster soon, and Harry was left alone in his bed, trying to ignore his suddenly dry mouth.

He woke up several hours later feeling restless and irritable. Hermione's surprise attack had disrupted his pharmaceutically enhanced sleep, and for the rest of the night his dreams were dominated by ugly goblets full of thick, black as ink sludge and Snape laughing as he collected blood that was dripping from his fangs. Noticing his sour mood on their way to breakfast, Hermione offered a soft "sorry", which he rudely brushed off.

After a quick bowl of porridge, Harry grunted a curt farewell and left the Great Hall. He hadn't been to very many of the Saturday sessions of Battleball this year, but he desperately needed to pummel something. Arriving early, he did a few stretches and began tossing practice balls at some targets, not noticing as the room slowly filled.

Professor Sinistra, the club Supervisor, finally blew the whistle, garnering everyone's attention. After a quick head count, the games began. By amazing luck, Harry grabbed the first cannon; and he was ruthless. A tiny Ravenclaw boy fell, followed quickly by Dennis Creevey. Every time the ball left Harry's hand, it hit its target with deadly precision, bouncing back for Harry to catch. That part was quite odd; normally the ball would fall to the floor or bounce off in some random direction. Returning to its fighter was rare. To do so every single time was unheard of.

When the first game ended, with Harry the winner of course, Sinistra actually confiscated the balls and checked them all for charms. Then she checked Harry for charms. Then she patted him down for a wand. Eventually, she decided the ball Harry had been using was defective and removed it from play for the next game.

By that time, Harry was sweaty and breathless (his skin glistening under his deep red tank … at least that's what most of the girls in the room noticed) and most of his bad mood had been worked off. As a result, the rest of the games went at a normal pace, with the balls behaving as they should and Harry having to dodge and duck as much as any one else. He was still one of the last standing in each game, but now that had more to do with skill than uncontrolled magic.

He walked back to the Common Room with Dennis, reliving some of the mornings highlights as they went. Reaching the Fat Lady, Harry interrupted to say "mistletoe", the whimsical password McGonagall had set while in one of her rare festive moods. Shaking his head at the prophetic password, he split from Dennis as they entered the room.

Hermione glanced up and saw him enter, but ignored his approach. Ron, he noticed, was actually glaring at him. Ginny was wisely keeping out of it.

"Sorry about earlier," he said in opening. "Apparently I turn into a goblin when I don't get my beauty sleep."

Ron looked at Hermione, clearly confused, but she could only shrug.

"Isn't Ohbeewan a goblin?" Harry asked her.

"Oh, no," Hermione managed to say between laughs. "But I get what you're saying. Apology accepted." Taking in his battle-worn appearance, she added, "After you take a shower. Until then, this table is off limits."

A refreshed Harry returned half an hour later, and Ginny motioned for him to sit with her so he could help with her defense essay. Hermione looked on approvingly as she listened to him explain the best way to counter a Freezing Charm without leaving the battle area a soppy mess.

"You're really a good teacher, Harry," Hermione said, the tone of her voice instantly telling Harry she was leading up to something. "It's a shame you aren't in the DA anymore."

"I thought he didn't have time anymore," Ron interrupted. "That's what you told me last year, when I thought he needed to be involved."

Turning to her boyfriend, Hermione explained, "It's just that the new members haven't all seen Harry in action, and I think it would help if they did."

"You mean the Slytherins," Ron huffed.

"Yes Ron, I mean the Slytherins." Ignoring whatever else Ron was going to say, Hermione turned back to Harry. "A while back, Dierks Harper and I were talking while we were doing rounds, and he mentioned that he and a couple of his friends wanted to join the DA. He said you'd told him about it."

"Yeah, we've talked a few times. His granddad's the minister, so I figure he's alright."

"Oh, I didn't know that. Not that it matters," Hermione was quick to add. "As long as they're really on our side, I was fine with letting them in."

"Tell him what you want him to do," Ginny urged her friend.

"Well … none of the new members can do the Patronus Charm, and some of the older ones are still having trouble with it. I was thinking that you could teach a refresher course."

"Nice try … but I've known you too long now," Harry replied. "What do you really want?"

"I really want you to teach the Patronus Charm. But ... it wouldn't hurt if you talk about the war at the same time," she boldly announced. "Not to scare them, but so they can really understand. They need to know that it's possible to fight back … that Death Eaters might look big and scary, but underneath the masks they're just wizards. Not that I want to encourage any of them to go looking for trouble, but they need to understand that if Death Eaters attack, they don't have to just give up."

"I think you should do it," Ginny added.

"Right … 'course you do. It was probably your idea."

"Actually," Ginny smirked, "it was Ron's."

"Ron's," Harry exclaimed, turning to his friend. "But you just argued against it."

"No, I argued against letting Slytherins into the DA. Keep up, mate."

Rather than getting into a senseless argument, Harry sighed, knowing he'd give in and do it in the end. Just like Hermione knew he would, no doubt. "Fine … I'll do it, but it'll have to be after break. I'm already drowning as it is with everything I'm doing, and Padma is claiming every free minute I have to, quote – tweak – end quote, every detail of that stupid ball. Talk about over-achiever … if I let her have her way, she'd have every minute of the dance mapped out, right down to assigned potty breaks for every table."

After discussing some of Padma's wilder suggestions for the ball (auctioning dances with the staff drew the most laughs), the friends decided to grab some lunch. The afternoon seemed to fly past after they'd finished their meals, and soon Neville came over to remind the others about that night's DA meeting, leaving Harry to work on a tough Arithmancy assignment.

Try as he might, he couldn't keep his mind on the Duco Calulation; instead, he was thinking about Hermione's discovery. Tossing the book aside as a lost cause, he grabbed his bag and headed for the Headmaster's Tower.

The gargoyle, recognizing him as part of the Headmaster's family, no longer required a password when Harry was alone. Seeing his approach, it winked as it moved aside, giving him access to the stairs. Albus was writing a letter when Harry arrived, but he quickly set it aside when he noticed the serious look on Harry's face.

Skipping the usual pleasantries and candies, Harry pulled out Hermione's notes, dropping them right in the middle of Albus' desk before slumping into a nearby chair.

Wondering over Harry mood, Albus lifted the pages and began thumbing through them. The further he read through the information, the more his forehead creased as his concentration deepened, until finally he set the pages aside with a sigh.

Leaning back in his chair, he quietly contemplated the information, and Harry respected the silence. Finally, Albus steepled his fingers as he looked back to Harry. "You and your friends have done an admirable job with your research, and found a most unique solution to our problem. Certainly one I hadn't considered. I assume this is from the journal you found in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Yes … we'd done a bit over the summer, but it was Hermione that really put us on the right track. She's bloody brilliant at times."

"I should say so – the brilliant part, at least. I prefer to compliment my friends without the use of crude language. But that is neither here nor there," he said, waving off Harry's apology. "This work you've done … and it is exceptional work, Harry," he added, picking put the parchment and waving it slightly to emphasize his point "but this ritual you have found … it is not the answer we seek."

That certainly wasn't the response he'd expected. "If by 'not the answer' you mean it doesn't tell us where the other Horcruxes are, you're right. Otherwise … I don't understand."

"It is simple, Harry. You have found a solution, most definitely; but not a viable option by any means."

"How … how can you just dismiss this," Harry practically shouted, gesturing toward the notes. "This could be the answer we've been looking for. It solves everything."

Angling his head slightly, Albus peered over his glasses as he asked, "Everything, Harry? Pray tell, who do you plan to ask to drink your poisonous concoction? Surely not yourself?"

It had been a rhetorical question, so Harry's sudden guilt – the way he looked away, the red coloring his cheeks – brought Albus to a stop. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he asked, "are you actually telling me you think you should sacrifice yourself to complete this ritual?"

Turning back to Albus with a determined look, Harry admitted, "I don't see that we have much choice. We aren't having any luck finding the Horcruxes. And he could be out there right now making more, and we wouldn't even know it."

"I find that unlikely. As I've explained previously, he would have wanted seven parts to his soul; it being a strong magical number."

"Yeah … but he's crazy, remember. Maybe he found some moldy old manuscript talking about the importance of the number thirteen. That's one better than you, isn't it?"

Albus didn't understand that last statement, so Harry explained. "Because you only found twelve uses for dragon's blood, but he would have thirteen souls."

"I hardly think even Tom is crazy enough to follow that logic."

"Maybe," Harry offhandedly agreed, hardly waiting a second to continue, "But that doesn't change the fact that he doesn't have his precious seven anymore. And he knows it. The diary was destroyed – what if he's decided to replace it?"

"Within the last year? I hardly think—"

"You're hardly thinking a lot tonight."

"_Harry_."

"Er … sorry," Harry offered, "I guess that was a bit over the line."

Instead of replying verbally, Albus held up his hands, palm to palm, and slowly spread them away from each other.

"Alright … a lot over the line. It's just … sometimes, I think it's what I'm meant to do – to sacrifice myself. It's that stupid prophecy. Maybe my real power – the power he knows not – is that I'm willing to put the people I love ahead of myself. And now that I've found this ritual … it just seems so clear … I … di—," his voice faltered on that one word, and he cleared his throat and tried again, "_die_ … and everyone else can be safe."

As Harry stopped speaking, he garnered his courage and looked his guardian in the eye. Before Harry's brain could even register the movement, Albus was standing and his hand slammed onto his desktop with enough force to blow Harry's notes off the surface. The sharp sound startled a slumbering Fawkes, who squawked his displeasure before he disappeared in a burst of flame.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!," he bellowed, making Harry jump in his seat, "and I never want to hear you say such things again." Leaning forward, he continued in a slightly calmer voice, "your life is yours, Harry, not Tom's. Do not let him have such control over it." He gave Harry a moment to ponder his advice. "And might I add, a sudden desire to kill yourself is not a power; it is a sign of mental instability."

Seeing Harry's head suddenly jerk back up, he knew he'd made his point. But to be sure, as he retook his seat he added, "I would think that I would not have to remind you that you are young, and have a wonderful future ahead of you with a fine young lady. Or do you delude yourself into thinking she would not be upset over such a decision."

"Well … I …," Harry floundered, and Albus moved in for the kill, so to speak.

"Harry," he began in his kindest voice, "what if I were to say that I find myself much more expendable than you? Shall I be the one to drink this concoction of yours?"

"_NO_," Harry shouted. "I've had enough parent types sacrifice themselves for me, thank you very much. I couldn't watch another one die."

"Then we are at an impasse, for I refuse to follow you to the grave," Albus reasoned.

Harry couldn't think of anything to say to this, so he kept quiet. Albus, sensing victory, also kept his peace. Nine minutes later, by Albus' count, Harry finally spoke. In an almost timid voice, he offered, "So if neither of us should drink it … maybe we could get Snape to do it."

"Harry – "

"No, think about it," he rushed to explain. "He doesn't have much of a life … no friends or family … by his own admission hates his job. Not many would actually miss him." Harry had been picking up steam as he spoke, growing more confident in his idea, and totally missing the deadly glare coming from Albus. "Plus, he wants to defeat Voldemort as bad as we do. I bet we could talk him into it."

Finishing his speech, Harry finally noticed the death glare, and hunched down in an attempt to avoid it.

"Severus is not some expendable lab rat," Albus admonished. "I never want to hear you suggest otherwise again. We will not be asking anyone to kill themselves 'for the greater good'."

"Alright, fine," he conceded, knowing he'd crossed another line. "It was just a suggestion. I didn't really mean it anyway. But, seriously, we need to figure out something."

"And we will," Albus replied with a confidence that somehow made Harry believe they would. "But this ritual that Slytherin speaks of is not the answer we are seeking. Consider this: you actually considered drinking poison without proof the ritual actually works. How can we be certain this Doscara even had a Horcrux? What if Slytherin talked an innocent person into taking their own life in vain? You hadn't considered that, had you?"

No, Harry hadn't considered that, which Albus could easily read on his face.

"But ignoring that for a moment, have you thought at all about the difficulty in obtaining Tom Riddle's essence – his lifeblood? Have you considered the possible effect using his blood would have on you? Or had you forgotten that he used your blood to create his new body? What if using his blood, which is also your blood, binds your soul to his?

Harry visibly paled; suddenly realizing how much they hadn't considered. Looking to his patiently waiting guardian, he shook his head.

"I was certain you hadn't. There is a way around that particular obstacle … an option other than his blood, but I find that even more problematic. In fact, I feel queasy even thinking it, but … in come cultures, a man's semen is considered his essence."

Queasy was an understatement, Harry thought, as he covered his mouth with his hand and swallowed thickly.

Chuckling at Harry's distress, Albus reassured him. "We've found the locket. I am confident we can find the other two as well. Promise me you will do nothing with this ritual – no experimenting, no trips into the Forbidden Forest, nothing."

"Yeah … alright. I won't do anything with it. _For__ now._ But I won't promise to just forget about it. I've come to realize it's good to have a backup plan."

"Fair enough," Albus agreed, feeling confident he'd made his point. "Now, if our serious business is finished, I believe we could convince a house elf to bring us some of that treacle tart you and that brother of mine love so much, and we can have a snack in Aberforth's room."

Harry agreed, and soon the three men were enjoying their treats in the comfort of Albus' sitting room, all thoughts of Horcruxes and dark potions banished for the moment.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Attention Star Wars fans: Not every person on Earth has seen Star Wars. Hard to believe, I know, but true. (Now, people in galaxies far, far away … that's another story.)

I must say, I was very surprised that no one had connected Remus' disappearance with the Lake of the Dead in the cave. How typical that it was Harry who finally put the pieces together.


	31. Harry James Potter Weasley Dumbledore

I don't own Harry Potter. I wanted to, but the closest I could get was a 94-year-old hairless, toothless vampire named Heinrich Poppentop. He's for sale if anyone's interested.

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**Chapter 31. Harry James Potter Weasley Dumbledore**

Saturday, Harry felt, ended with a yawn. Not a bang, or a wham, or a snort or a scream, or any other exciting sound. It was the kind of yawn where his back arched and his arms swung wide, indicating that he'd been through the ringer. Which he had, emotionally speaking. He'd gone from the high of Hermione's great find to the low of thinking he was the sacrifice to the letdown of hearing the whole thing wasn't such a great find after all. He was so worn out that when he finally made it to his bed, he slipped in and drifted off almost immediately, blissfully unaware when Seamus forgot his silencing charm and woke the other boys in the room.

Sunday, Harry mused as he sat up and stretched, was picking up right where Saturday had left off. The dorm was filled with the sounds of sleep and his warm bed was begging him to stay and keep it company. Not bothering to stifle his yawn, he nearly gave in to temptation and flopped back down. But someone – Bill Weasley if his sleep-addled mind could be trusted – was already on his way to meet him for his weekly training session.

Careful so he wouldn't disturb his sleeping roommates, he went about getting ready for the day, only pausing to listen to Seamus mumble something about sexy trolls. In no time, he'd left the castle and was on his way to the Shrieking Shack.

He stopped before entering the main room of the shack so he could pull his wand and prepare for anything. After all, the last time Bill had been his trainer, Harry had walked in to find himself face-to-face with an angry mummified goblin. Granted, it had quickly changed into Ginny dressed in widow's black, as it had really been a boggart, but still…

Slowly pushing the door open, he found himself in a smothering darkness that could only be achieved by magic. Probably some of that Instant Darkness Powder, he reasoned. Luckily, he felt confident he could find his way around the room in the dark, so put one hand on the wall and used it to guide himself away from the door, and hopefully out of the darkness.

Harry made it four steps when … _pflunk!_ … his foot was sucked into a spongy, soppy mess that should have been a floor. Caught by surprise, he yelped as he tried to keep from falling. It didn't do him any good – he'd already lost his balance and his body tipped forward. He reached out with his left hand in an attempt to steady himself and he thrust his wand-hand into the air. It was a move Kingsley said all Aurors were taught to protect their wands from breaking against the ground.

He landed awkwardly on the ground in same sludge that now held his left leg trapped. His left hand was trapped underneath his body, but he'd succeeded in protecting his wand by using his right elbow for support, so his wand was pointing directly in front of him. Not that he could see that since he was still lost in inky darkness.

Taking quick stock of the situation, he decided that he was lying in something gross but not life threatening. Instead of trying to climb to his feet, he stayed still, listening for any sound that might give the enemy away. A few seconds later, his patience was rewarded when he heard footsteps from not one, but two different directions. Putting together the clues: wet, sloppy mess underneath … darkness powder in the air … two instead of one; he realized what was going on. His attackers were Fred and George, and he was stuck in a Portable Swamp.

Going on the offensive, Harry raised his wand as high into the air as his position would allow and randomly sent out stunning spells toward where he thought the twins were positioned. The sound of return spells hitting the wall above him let him know the twins thought he was either still standing or standing again. He continued his attack, aiming his wand erratically to make it seem he was moving, and he was rewarded when the sound of a body thumping to the ground was quickly followed by a string of words Molly would most definitely not approve of. _'__That__'__s__ Fred; __George __never __says __that__ particular __phrase.__'_

Using one of the spells Remus had taught him, Harry threw his voice across the room as he bellowed, "surrender or die, Fred."

"You gonna make me, Harrykins?" the other replied, but his voice had given his position away, and Harry easily disarmed him before summoning both the twins' wands.

So now Harry was the only armed person, but he was still stuck in the muck. And he still couldn't see anything. As he felt his right leg sink enough that both were now stuck, he offered, "Call it a draw?"

"Only if you admit we caught you," Fred replied as he tried to make his way to Harry, intent on winning.

"Yet still managed to disarm both of you," Harry shot back as he fought to lift his legs out of the mud, causing one of his shoes to come off.

Fred took another step forward but once in the darkness he couldn't see either, and he tripped and fell into a broken chair. He grunted as his manly bits connected with a hard wooden armrest. For a few seconds all he could do was groan, but eventually he was able to say, "How about we just call it a draw?"

"There's an idea," Harry sarcastically replied, "now get me out of this gunk."

It took a few minutes for Fred to cautiously make his way to Harry (he wasn't about to get caught in his own swamp, after all), but eventually he got there and retrieved his wand. Of course, he first dispelled the darkness and then revived his brother before finally squatting down next to Harry – who was now liberally splattered in mud – and posing for a picture. But eventually Harry was freed and reasonably clean, and all three checked themselves over and decided they were no worse for wear.

Once the friends were done complementing each other, they settled into chairs and the twins launched into what they called … well, Fred called it "Weas-tics", because the idea was to incorporate Weasley products into battle tactics. George, however, felt that "Weas-tics" sounded like the kind of disease forest gnomes might catch. He preferred to call it "Weasleys' Wicked Weapons", which Fred immediately vetoed as a misguided attempt at alliteration.

Harry, who thought it was actually a very good attempt at alliteration, nonetheless kept out of the argument.

They must have come to an agreement, because Fred finally explained, "We're here to teach you how to use our products against Death Eaters. We call it Weasleys' Wartime Mayhem. Has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?"

Harry agreed it was a much better name than their earlier attempts, and soon the three were brainstorming such things as using fake wands to outwit their opponents ("idiots would probably believe you'd dampened their magic somehow") and new twists on the classic firecracker-down-the-robes.

Eventually, they'd run out of ideas, or maybe they'd just gotten tired of being serious. Either way, talk turned to updates on their personal lives, which in turn led to the twins discussing how their business was doing. When Fred mentioned how they wished they had more space in the shop (they'd branched into useful products in addition to their jokes), Harry knew it was time to bring up his proposal.

"About that …," he said to get their attention. "I know how you can get more space … expand even." Each twin raised an eyebrow, and he knew he'd hit on something. "See, I've got this unused bit of land, and I've thought a lot about what to do with it. And I've decided that it's really the perfect place for a shop of some kind. I thought I'd give you two first crack at it."

Fred was quick to ask, "You're not talking about Headquarters, are you?"

"Don't be daft," Harry shot back, looking slightly offended by the question. "That's being used, now isn't it? I'm talking about an actual piece of land with nothing on it. I've decided I don't want to build another house there, 'cause no matter what house it is, people would always think of it as 'The Potter House'. And what sane person would want to live there?"

"Harry … are you talking about …" Fred trailed off.

"Yeah," he replied, nodding, "I had the house torn down already, so it's just an empty spot of land now. And like I was saying, I don't want another house there. I don't want it to be this … bragging point for some idiot. So I thought, if I don't want a house there, what else do I do with it?"

"And you came up with a joke shop?" George wanted to know, for he was having trouble believing what he was hearing.

Harry smiled back; he knew most people wouldn't understand his reasoning. "Do you guys remember why I gave you that money? It wasn't just a lark. It really was because we could all use some laughs. Well … even when this war is over, and nobody can remember why they were afraid to say 'Voldemort', people will need to laugh." Seeing that neither appeared to know what to say, he added, "and it doesn't hurt that your stuff is amazing, and it's bound to make loads of money."

The twins looked at each other, each cocking his head to the side making them look like mirror images of the same person. Fred finally turned away from his brother and spoke. "Harry, we can't take your land. That wouldn't be on."

"Not that we wouldn't be grateful, mate," George quickly assured him.

"It's just that there's a bit of a difference between a few galleons and some prime real estate," Fred explained.

"Plus," George took over, "there's the fact that we aren't exactly working from Mum's kitchen anymore. We can afford stuff now."

"So, much as we love you—"

"In the way Ron does," George cut in, earning his twin's attention, "not the way Ginny does."

"True enough, George," Fred agreed, then turned his attention back to Harry and picked up his earlier thought, "so as much as we love you, we can't take something like that from you."

"That's, er, nice to know," Harry assured them just before he cracked a smile and snickered. "But I wasn't exactly offering to give it to you. I'd like to buy into the company. Not as an equal partner or anything like that," he explained, "you guys would still be the ones in charge. But I thought if I built a nice shop, I could put it into the business in exchange for a share. You know, a place with loads more space than you have now, so plenty of room for displays and rooms for experimenting and production … maybe even a place where people could try out some of the products."

George seemed to like that idea. "Kinda like free samples … for a charge though, right?"

"Absolutely," Harry agreed. He didn't really care one way or another about that detail, but he could tell that George did. "And moving production would free up space at the shop in Diagon Alley so you could add more stock there. Think of how much more stuff you could sell."

"That's got potential," Fred contemplated aloud, "but we're pretty maxed as it is."

"I don't know though Fred," his brother countered. "We looked into that place in Hogsmeade."

"But Zonko's got that market locked up pretty tight," Fred recalled, "and we could never come up with another location."

Seeing that he had their interest, Harry jumped in. "You guys could design the place, so it would be exactly what you want. You'd pick out everything and I'd pay for it. How about if I sweeten the potion? I …," he hesitated for a second. Although he'd been wanting to make this offer to the twins for a while, he'd only thought up this bit as they'd been talking. "I could buy the building in Diagon Alley, and put that in too. Just think … two stores, no rent. That's like four times the profit."

Now the twins had identical gleams in their eyes and smiles on their faces that would normally send Harry ducking for cover or scampering behind Ginny – either was a safe option.

"So you'd put in the two buildings," George summarized, "and we give you …" he turned to Fred, and with nothing more than head nods and shakes, a few raised eyebrows, and one stuck out tongue, they came to some unspoken agreement, "… thirty percent. And you have to agree that we get full use of your name and likeness for advertising purposes."

"And the phrase Boy-Who-Lived, and whatever they come up with after you defeat Snake Face. We get to use those too."

"Well yeah," George reasoned, "that goes without saying."

Now, Ginny and Ron, and even Molly, had all drilled one important lesson into Harry's mind when it came to the twins. 'Never agree with what they propose.' He took a few seconds to think over their offer, and decided to counter with something a bit less deadly. "Twenty-five percent – plus you have to promise to pay for Ron's wedding when that day eventually comes – and I would have to have right of refusal when it comes to my names, titles, and likenesses. Ginny would kill me if you two stuck my name on some sex toy."

"Sex toys? We don't carry those," Fred said matter-of-factly; but then his smile turned predatory. "But that's a good idea. We'll be sure to let Mum know where it came from."

When the older boys were done laughing at Harry's perfect impersonation of a mouse that's just been spotted by the cat, the three finally settled on 24% in exchange for the two buildings, Ron and Hermione's dream wedding (George insisted they specifically name her), and (as Harry phrased it) Harry's dignity. They shook hands – which involved each twin grabbing one of Harry's hands and then grabbing each others, and somehow spinning and twisting in place so that they ended up standing back-to-back-to-back – and the deal was done. The twins promised to get to work designing their dream shop and Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione if she knew anything about purchasing buildings.

As Fred brought out bottles of Butterbeer and treats from Molly, Harry finally asked something he'd wondered since he'd first entered the room. Namely, what happened to Bill, who was supposed to be his sparing partner for the day.

"Oh … yeah … little Billy," George said in a suddenly serious voice.

"Poor boy," Fred agreed, nodding his head in sorrow, "he's suffering from a case of nonads."

"Hard to catch, but once you have it, nearly impossible to shake."

"So he's sick?" a confused Harry asked.

"Worse. He's married. To a part-Veela."

"Handed over his manly bits, now didn't he? Fleur batted her eyes and said 'I needz you to stay vit me, Villiam' – "

"Bad fake accent, bro," George stage whispered, earning a dirty look from his brother.

"And little Billy says 'okey dokey, sweetiepoo," Fred continued, making his voice sound like a cartoon character.

"I doubt he said that," George countered.

Fred shrugged as he added, "you've seen them together, right? Enough to make even Hagrid lose his lunch, it's so sickeningly sweet."

"Right," Harry cut in, knowing if he let the twins continue, they'd likely carry on for another half hour. "So that explains where he is. But why you two?"

"Well, Harry," George answered, and his body language instantly changed – he sat straighter and lost a bit of his smile – which put Harry on notice that whatever he was about to say would be no joke. "He invoked Weasley Rule #9."

Without skipping a beat, Fred joined in and they recited together, "Weasleys always help a Weasley in need."

"You'll need to remember that," George added, "seeing as it pretty much applies to you now, too."

"Right. Rule Number 9," Harry repeated. "What are the other eight?"

"Oh, there's more than nine," Fred assured him. "I think we're in the thirties, but there's really only a few you have to worry about. Like the one about keeping family business in the family. That's number three. And number eleven is real important."

"If Mum's still mad by the time Dad's home from work, you're really in for it," George explained.

Based on the look the brothers shared, Harry had the feeling they'd broken that rule more than a few times.

"And Rule 24 … you'll definitely need to know that one," George continued.

"Never," Fred solemnly said, "and we mean _never __ever_ ask Ginny if it's _that_ time of the month."

"Yeah, I already knew that," Harry explained. "Ron made that mistake once." Wincing at the memory he added, "it wasn't pretty. I hadn't realized a feather would fit there." Shaking the memory away, he added, "but there's an actual rule about that?"

"Ever since the summer of the World Cup," Fred explained. "It was maybe a week before you arrived, and Charlie was the poor sap that made the mistake. Lucky to have survived, really."

"Speaking of Charlie, how is he?" Harry asked. "Your Mum's letters are always a bit vague."

"Thing about Charlie is … he's …" but George couldn't bring himself to finish.

"It's like he's a little kid, Harry. He knows us all now, but he doesn't remember us."

"By little kid, you mean?" Harry asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"The way the healer explained it, it's like when you use a pair of omnioculars," George explained. "Normally, you can rewind the action and watch it again and again. Well … it's like Charlie's brain was rewound to childhood, but then it got stuck, so it can't go forward."

"He talks and acts like he's about five years old," his brother continued. "He remembered Mum and Dad, 'cause he knew them when he was five. But me and George? Well, he didn't really know us back then, did he? 'Course, he knows us now."

The two shared a quiet look before George continued, "He's as good as he's gonna get, see? His body will keep aging, but his mind never will. He can still learn simple things and stuff, meet new people and make friends – as he calls it – but he'll never grow up again … never be a mature adult."

"Seems the bearded one was right … there are things worse than death."

"But on the bright side," George added, clearly trying to lighten the mood, "he doesn't remember any of our old jokes, so it's like a brand new audience. And he _loves_ our pranks."

"Especially the farting powder," Fred explained. "And the Bouncing Basilisk."

"And the Canary Creams. Don't forget those."

"Safe to say he loves our stuff."

"Yeah, well, it _is_ good stuff," Harry assured them. "And … while we're discussing your excellent mischief-making skills, got any advice for a novice that wants to prank a certain Headmaster? It's got to involve mistletoe."

Fred and George turned to each other, matching soppy grins on their faces. "You're pranking Dumbledore? You're our new favorite brother, Harry."

-000-

Getting ready for supper that night, Harry thought back to some of the ideas the twins had given him. He'd easily dismissed their suggestion to work with Peeves; the poltergeist might have helped the twins on a prank or two, but Harry was pretty sure the little bugger would somehow turn any trick back on him. Their idea to hit the staff room would likewise be ignored. Snape would kill him, pure and simple, if he was caught in the prank – a slow, gruesome death that would leave Harry begging for Voldemort's mercy, no doubt.

But … they'd had a few suggestions that he thought might work. Singing mistletoe certainly had merit, as did their suggestion to ask Sprout about magical variants of the plant. He didn't have any solid plans yet; and as it was already a week into December, he needed to get busy. Oh well, he reasoned, he was eating with Albus and Uncle Abe tonight. Perhaps his uncle could give him some inspiration.

He arrived in the Headmaster's office to find Albus deep in conversation with two of the old master's portraits. As he waved in greeting he moved over to Fawkes, who perked up as he neared. "Hey there," he cooed, as he began to stroke the bird's feathers, "seen Hedwig lately?"

The phoenix gave a sad chirp as he shook his head.

"Ah, well … have you tried giving her some fresh mice? She likes that."

Fawkes instantly perked up, and – although most would say it isn't possible to do so with a beak – smiled. A few happy notes later, he spread his wings and flew from the room.

"I wonder where he is off to now?" said a voice from behind, and Harry turned to see that Albus had finished his discussion and had moved to stand by the fireplace.

"Getting a gift for a friend, I imagine. Shall we head to dinner?"

"Not quite yet, Harry. First, I want to make certain you are still clear on what we discussed yesterday. You've given up your mad desire to kill yourself, yes?"

"Yes," he petulantly replied, "you made it perfectly clear that that plan had a few holes in it. Besides, Ginny would probably kill herself just so she could torture me for all eternity for doing something like that."

"Quite so," Albus agreed. "Well then, before we go into our quarters for dinner, I feel I must warn you, Aberforth has been as grumpy as a Grindylow in the desert since he was unable to grasp his wand this morning. What do you say we see if we can't cheer him up?"

Harry's demeanor quickly turned serious. "I thought he wasn't really doing much magic anyway?"

"There is a difference, I think. As long as he could still wave his wand, he could pretend he simply chose to not use magic. But now …unable to do even that, he must face the truth. Harry, as much as it pains me to say this, my brother is dying. Oh, we knew this in the abstract, when it was a vague diagnosis with minor symptoms. But his injuries during the attack on the Hogs Head have accelerated the disease's progression. Aberforth knows this, but he doesn't know how to handle it, making him more unbearable than normal … if you can believe such a thing is possible."

The two were silent for a few moments, Albus thinking about others he had lost, and Harry trying desperately to accept the news without tears. Finally, a comforting hand fell lightly onto Harry's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Now that we've had a moment to compose ourselves, let us put aside our morose thoughts and enjoy our evening with him."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, looking up and forcing a smile, "the twins wanted me to say hello anyway."

Albus shook his head as he considered that, while Harry brushed past him grinning. They found Abe sitting up in his bed thumbing through a magazine with a colorful picture of two witches in obscenely short robes leaning over a tub-sized cauldron. Several similar magazines were spread across the foot of his bed.

For an ill man, at first glance he looked like his normal ornery self. But looking closer, Harry could see how his arms didn't look as defined, like they'd lost weight and muscle. His beard seemed to have thinned out, as had his hair. He'd never been a tanned man, but now his skin had taken on the sallow look that Harry normally associated with people like vampires and merpeople and Snape.

"Oh, it's only you," the frail man spat out upon seeing his brother.

"That's nice," Harry indignantly responded, "I see how I rate now."

"Ah, Harry-me-lad … I didn't see you standing behind that great lump 'o walking dragon dung." Turning his venom back to his brother he added, "And where in Merlin's name did you get those robes? A gypsy bazaar? Men aren't supposed to wear things that twinkle, Albus."

Harry was taken aback by Abe's bitterness, but Albus merely raised an eyebrow before turning back to Harry. "Just ignore his sour mood, Harry. He's a bit upset with me because I refused to bring his goat up for a visit." Turning back to Abe, he added, "It's unsanitary, Aberforth. You know the healers are worried about germs."

"Pfft. 'Cause it'd be _such_ a shame if some germs killed me before this horrid disease could. Make a dying man happy, Albus, and bring me my goat."

"No."

"Fine," Abe pouted. "Then bring me some firewhisky."

"How about some nice soothing tea instead," Albus asked in his kindest voice. Without waiting for an answer, he prepared a cup and handed it to his brother.

Harry was certain that Uncle Abe was going to refuse the tea. Honestly, he half expected the man to toss the hot beverage into his brother's face. But much to his surprise, grumbly, gloomy Abe did an about-face, attitude wise, and after sniffing the drink once took a long sip. "It'll do," he muttered, shooting his brother a dark look (probably just for show) before taking another, longer drink.

Unnoticed by Harry, who was caught up watching the brothers, house elves brought in a serving cart full of covered dishes. A lap tray for Abe appeared, followed by a small table with service for two next the bed. While Albus continued to refuse Abe's requests (right now he was asking for entertainment of the dancing girl variety) Harry drew up two chairs and began to pour glasses of orange juice for everyone.

His gurgling stomach got the better of him, and Harry gave up waiting for the two to finish their argument—discussion—whatever, and he served himself some steaming vegetable soup over a bowl of rice.

Whether their argument had run its course or the smell of the food got the better of them, the two men eventually settled down and enjoyed their own meals. Talk was sparse, just idle chatter really, and in no time the meal was eaten, the simple apple fritters were devoured, and all signs of the dinner were cleared away.

As was normal after the meal, a simple silver tray appeared on the side table, but instead of the normal pots of tea and coffee, it held a tall glass decanter and three plain shot glasses. The bottom of the decanter was cradled in a misshaped wool tea cozy, which Harry's unbelieving eyes recognized as one of Hermione's knitted elf hats.

Albus glared at the tray as if it was a misbehaved Third-Year, but Abe clapped his hands and whooped with joy when he spotted it. "Bless those house elves," he shouted, looking up to the heavens. Far faster than his infirm appearance should have allowed, he snatched up the decanter and removed its stopper. Taking a deep sniff of the brew, he closed his eyes and sighed, "Ogden's Top Notch … just what these weary bones need."

"Aberforth …" Albus began. His hands moved forward as if he was about to pry the bottle out of his brother's hands, which looked to be a hard thing to do, given the way Uncle Abe was cradling the bottle protectively to his chest.

"Let me have this, Albus," Abe implored in a tired, serious voice. "Let me get drunk one last time. It's the least you owe me, don't you think?" Even Harry could see that Albus was close to caving, but he stayed quiet as Abe continued, "don't you have enough regrets, Albus? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life wishing you'd let a dying man have one last night of fun?"

Apparently, manipulation was a family trait.

"Fine … fine," Albus sighed, not wanting to argue anymore; or perhaps dealing with his brother left him in need of a drink himself. "But just a round or two."

Wearing a grin that covered his whole face, Abe sloppily poured three shots and handed out the glasses. The brothers tossed their drinks back in one go, humming appreciatively as the whiskey's warmth began to spread through them. Harry, being younger and lighter-weight, and not wanting to get roaring drunk in front of the two men, took a small gulp of his drink, leaving about half the shot behind.

"Very nice," Albus complemented after his second shot. "Dobby has excellent taste. But don't you think you should slow down a bit, Aberforth," he added, seeing that his brother was pouring his third already.

"No regrets tonight, Albus," he smiled; then giving a small salute with his glass, he gulped it down. "In fact," he added, "I think tonight's a good night to let go of our regrets."

Not knowing what that meant, but feeling rather uneasy with the looks the other two shared, Harry downed the rest of his drink – he'd just started on his second – then sputtered as it went down the wrong pipe. One of the brothers slapped him on the back while the other refilled everyone's glasses, and when he was able to sit up again, his refilled glass was shoved into his hand.

"Aberforth, don't force the boy to drink. Perhaps we should call it a night?" Albus set his glass on the table, and would have reached for Abe's glass except at just that moment Abe's right leg jerked, kicking several of his magazines onto the floor.

"Since your hands are free, can you get those for me Albus?" Abe innocently asked. His brother nodded and reached for his wand, causing Abe to hastily add, "with your hands, don't you think? Wouldn't want to use magic whilst drinking. Might set a bad example for young Harry here."

With a sigh, and a rolling of his eyes that Abe no doubt missed, Albus stood from his seat and moved around to the other side of the bed to pick up the mess.

The moment Albus' back was turned, Abe looked to Harry and mouthed, "help me."

Pretty sure he knew what Abe wanted, but having no idea how to help, not to mention no desire to get caught between the two, Harry shrugged.

By this point Albus was on the floor, and Abe called out in his normal voice, "While you're down there, can you see if you can find my box of ice mice? I think they fell under the bed." Albus agreed, and Abe turned back to Harry and quietly implored, "Use your wand … get him to let me keep drinking. I need this, Harry."

It was a colossally stupid idea. Using magic when he'd been drinking, and on his guardian no less? Hermione would have his head if she knew. But really, he'd only had a little bit. And it wouldn't technically be on Albus – he'd be charming the whiskey bottle. And Albus (and by extension Hermione) probably wouldn't ever know anyway; Albus had had a few shots himself, and if the charm – which he probably wouldn't use – but if he did, and it worked right, well, Albus would think it was his idea.

And there was Weasley Rule #9 to consider, which applied here … _right?_ … since he was as good as a Weasley and Abe was as good as his uncle. Plus, Albus would probably have a tough time remembering most of tonight, let alone one teensy instance of magic which might or might not have originated from his own child and which probably wouldn't really make him do anything anyway, and really, what harm could there be in letting poor, dying Uncle Abe have some more alcohol?

It was probably the pathetic puppy eyes that did it, Harry reasoned, as he pulled his wand. One good compulsion charm on the whiskey bottle, which Abe was again cradling to keep it safe from his brother's evil clutches, should do the trick.

He had just begun the spell when he heard Albus beginning to stand. Worried about getting caught, he took his eyes off his target for just a split-second, but it was enough. He turned back in time to see his charm make contact, not with the fancy glass decanter, but with the arm still hugging it.

Wide-eyed, for he really had no idea how the poorly aimed charm would behave, he dropped his wand into his lap. As Albus moved past to reclaim his seat, Harry turned his head to look out the window, and therefore away from Albus, whose keen eyes would have picked up his guilty expression in a heartbeat. He silently ran through everything he knew about compulsion charms and kept coming back to one important fact: they were to be used on objects, not people. Groaning at his own stupidity, he scooped up his wand and hastily shoved it under his chair.

Unnoticed by Harry, Abe had managed to get Albus' drink back in his hand and was suggesting they play a little game called 'I regret'. The idea, as far as Harry could gather, was that one said their regret, then everyone took a drink, and somehow your bad feelings were supposed to be lightened, or shared, or some such thing. It sounded like a pile of hippogriff patties to him.

Abe offered to go first, and he cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "I regret that I didn't believe I could be a target," he said, looking at Harry. "Your friend Remus is gone because I thought I knew more than my brother; that everybody just saw me as a grumpy old goat-herder turned barkeep. Now he's gone and left his pregnant wife behind. That's what I regret."

The two men clinked their glasses together, holding them in place until Harry tentatively did the same. Then they downed their drinks in one go, their glasses magically refilling. Harry's glass, which was only half empty, also topped off.

"Your turn Albus," Abe called out, and to Harry's surprise his guardian cleared his throat to speak.

"I regret … I regret that I didn't think to protect Horace. I was so focused on having proof of something I already knew that I didn't consider that Tom might also remember that conversation. What happened to Horace is on my hands, and I regret that more than he can ever understand."

This time, there was no clinking of glasses. Aberforth just nodded his understanding and they both drank. Harry once again took a sip, barely believing the turn of events. Earlier, Albus had been dead set against letting his brother have alcohol, but one little messed-up charm later, and now he was playing a drinking game with the man? Maybe he just wanted to ease his guilt so desperately he was willing to try anything, but that couldn't be right … could it?

Someone cleared their throat, and Harry looked up from where he'd been staring into his glass to find both men looking at him expectantly.

"It's your turn, lad," Abe encouraged.

"Oh no, don't look at me. I'm not playing your game. Dr. Tony says we shouldn't dwell on our regrets, and I'm not gonna." With a forceful nod of his head, Harry felt he'd made his case and believed they would continue their game without his input.

Ah, the mistakes of youth.

"Come on now lad," Abe reasoned, "You're a man, ain't ya? Or you one of them prissy boys that can't handle a wee bit o' whiskey?"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by the sounds of a chicken clucking.

"Fine," he huffed. Cocking his head to the side, he thought hard to come up with something he regretted. It was harder than he expected it to be, as he didn't want to use any of the obvious choices – those were things he'd never stop regretting. With a triumphant smirk, he finally raised his glass and spoke. "I regret that back in second year, when Ron, Hermione and I made Polyjuice potion, and Hermione accidentally used a cat hair, and she turned into this weird cat-girl thing … I regret that I didn't have a camera with me."

And so the night went, with Harry regretting simple things like telling Ron about his first kiss with Cho, making a valentine for the school nurse in primary school, and never telling Mrs. Figg what Dudley did to Colonel Whiskers the kitten. Albus drank double for that one, his eyes not twinkling in the slightest.

Between glasses Aberforth regretted things like telling his father to go to hell just months before he was taken away, dating that two-timing wretch Bunni Babington, and selling his share of a silver mine for twelve galleons and a half case of Butterbeer. "Bloomy Swinsle found a new deposit two days later," he practically shouted as he pounded on the table with his still-full glass for emphasis.

Albus was much more composed as he rattled off regret for things like not recognizing the signs in Severus until it was too late, dating the alluring but adulterous Bunni Babington, and helping Fudge get his first job at the Ministry. That one earned a hearty "too right" and led into a detailed listing of all Fudge's faults, from accepting bribes to wearing ladies underpants, though that last one Harry hoped was mere speculation.

Through it all, the drinks were plentiful and the later it grew, the more obvious it was that the alcohol was doing its job in loosening up the brothers. They were giving each other sympathizing pats on the shoulder, and saying things like "there, there" and "I know how you feel", and once they'd even nearly hugged.

Harry wouldn't call either of them smashed or pissed yet, but that might have been more out of politeness than truth. As it was, they were downing two or three drinks for every regret, not the mention the few in between. Although he was trying his best to go slow, Harry knew the alcohol was affecting him too, as he couldn't stop smiling and felt … 'giddy' was a good word … funny sounding, but good. Or is that well … no, it was good … giddy!

By now it was Abe's turn, and he barely hesitated this time before telling his brother, "I regret that I fought with you over St. Mun—mum—m'gos. At the time I believed you were a heartless bastard who wanted to lock her away because it was easier for you –"

"You had the right of it, I think," Albus interrupted. "I wanted to be free – "

"That may be," said Abe, "but maybe it needed done regardless. My lovely Lenore helped me to realize. '_You__ were __but __children __yourselves_', she said. And she was right. We couldn't've done it on our own. She was getting too hard to handle. We'd have had to hospitalize her eventually."

"Er," began a very confused Harry, "hospitalize who?"

"Our dearest sister, Harry," Abe replied, as if that explained everything.

Albus, however, understood Harry's confusion. "I think it's time I tell you the whole story."

"I'll tell it, if you don't mind," Abe insisted. He turned his attention to Harry, and tried his best to sit up straight, just to show he was being very serious. He downed another drink for courage, and began. "Now, I suppose I need to tell you how it started. You know … I think there are only maybe three or five people alive who know the whole of what really happened. Bathilda Bagshot's one."

Harry thought he recognized the name. "The author?"

"One and the same," Abe was pleased to tell him. "She was our neighbor lady … always being nice and offering us tea and biscuits in exchange for performing little tasks. Like burying her ruddy dead cats," he explained with a sour look on his face. "Kept pictures of 'em over the mantle, as I remember."

Harry couldn't stop the giggle – maybe he should slow down the drinks – as he recalled batty Mrs. Figg and her obsessive love for all things feline. _'A relative, maybe?'_

"Elphias Doge, who was my best friend at the time … he knows the whole dratted tale, I think," Albus helpfully offered.

"As does good ole Finster … but that's really neither here nor there nor here," Abe conceded before turning his attention back to Harry. "The point is, the true story has been kept under wraps for almost a hundred years. You see, it actually begins when Ariana was six. That's when she was attacked by three muggle hooligans who saw her using magic. Back then … people were very suspicious of what they didn't understand. It was attack first and try to explain later."

Sitting quietly beside his brother, Albus nodded along as if agreeing with Abe's version of the story.

"But see, Ariana had always been an unusual girl – very shy, very quiet, very even tempered. When she was attacked, it was like she turned inside herself. She was never the same after. She got very easy upset and when that happened her magic struck out. We had to watch her constantly so she wouldn't wander off or hurt someone."

"You must understand, Harry," Albus added as he gently placed a hand on Harry's knee, "accidental magic is not always harmless. When Ariana was attacked, accidental magic saved her life … but at a great cost. The three boys were killed. From that moment on, she was unable to control her magic, and she never used it intentionally again. But the accidental magic couldn't be stopped. It seemed to have a mind of its own. It was vicious and twisted, attacking with only one purpose – to protect her. Think back to your own episodes. I recall that you once inflated your Aunt like a balloon."

Caught off-guard by the question, it took a moment for Harry to answer. "She ain't _my_ Aunt, but yeah, like a great big balloon. She even started to float."

"And I am certain that she deserved her fate," Albus assured Harry with a gentle pat on his knee. "But my point is, your magic inflated her, but only to a certain point. Now imagine, what if she hadn't stopped inflating? What if she'd grown so large … stretched so much … that she popped like an overfilled balloon?"

"Oh," Harry replied, wishing he could think of something more intelligent to say.

"Yes, _oh_," Abe smirked. "And that's what happened with Ariana's magic. She could no longer control it. The Ministry's prickly about these cases 'cause of the danger of magic being discovered. Children like her are taken from their families and locked up in a special ward at St. Margo's … Manmo's … Manungo's. None of us wanted that for her."

While Abe stopped to down another glass, Harry let his mind wander. He understood how the brothers must have felt, for he remembered all too well the existence – for you really couldn't call it life – led by the Longbottoms. A quiet little voice, one that whispered when he was alone and feeling especially morose, wondered if they wouldn't be better off dead.

Luckily, Abe picked up his tale, pulling Harry from his dark thoughts. "So … our sister's damaged beyond repair, and our father … he had to protect his little princess. He was always a bit of a hot head anyways, so he tells 'em that he was the one that killed those boys. Just killed 'em dead. Gets his self tossed into Abrakan for life. Refuses to say why he did it. The Ministry chalks it up to Muggle Baiting gone too far, and that's that. Wasn't long after that, Mum moved us to Godric's Hollow to keep Ariana away from the nosy neighbors."

"Your dad … that's why he's not buried with the rest of the family, isn't it? He died in Ah-akzaban and was buried there." Harry smiled, proud to have worked it out on his own. _'Hermione would be so pleased.'_

"I image so," Albus replied, not at all aware that Harry's mind was busy imagining Hermione's praise. "In the beginning, mother didn't want us to visit him – she said it was too hard for him to see us. After a time, we weren't even allowed to speak his name. She didn't even tell us when he died, though I am certain she knew. It happened while Aberforth and I were away at Hogwarts."

No one immediately carried on the story … Abe even closed his eyes in thought ... and for a second nearly nodded off before suddenly jerking back awake. For some reason, the now awake Abe spent several seconds wiggling his nose. Finally, he reached up and pinched it … then sat straight again as if he'd done nothing unusual. "Now, where were we? Oh yeah … Azcargan … so the family goes to Godric's Hollows and Alby and I head off to school, leaving Mum and Ariana alone. It was all good for a while. Then one day, just a few days after we'd returned home for the summer … something set Ariana off, and she … she … she accidentally killed Mum." With a loud snap of his fingers, he added, "Just like that."

Giving his brother a comforting pat on the shoulder, Albus picked up the tale. "We told everyone mother was killed by a backfiring charm, and most were perfectly willing to accept that excuse. But now we had a real problem – what to do with Ariana. I was done with Hogwarts, but I had such plans for my future, and I didn't want to be stuck at home taking care of my sister."

"Not to mention, I don't think he all that capable of taking care of her," Abe loudly whispered to Harry, pointing unnecessarily at his brother. "Mum and I were the real care-takers," he boasted. "Albus here was just in the way more often than not. Not his fault, mind you … he just wasn't the tending-type. Didn't really know how to look after someone else."

Albus nodded forlornly at that statement and helped himself to another shot, leaving the decanter, which had been full when it had arrived, dangerously close to running empty for its second time.

Finishing his drink, Albus continued, "Now, here's where some get the story wrong. True, I had become good friends with a young Gellert Grindelwald –"

"Wait a minute," Harry sputtered, thinking he'd heard wrong. "not _the__ Grindelwald_?"

"Well he wasn't _the__ Grindelwald_ back then, was he?" Albus reasoned. "He was Bathilda' great-nephew and had moved in with her, and was a very nice boy."

A loud noise interrupted Albus' narrative, and it took a moment for Harry to recognize the sound. Abe was laughing so hard he was snorting. "_Nice__ boy_," Harry could hear him saying between chuckles. His laughter was contagious, and Harry had to concentrate to keep from joining in.

Ignoring his brother, Albus carried on. "I thought we shared common interests and ideals. Gellert wanted me to travel with him and I wanted to go but I refused to let Aberforth drop out of school to take care of Arianna. You must understand, Harry, that not all of us are as mature as you at such a young age. I was barely eighteen, and I very much looked up to Gellert. You could say I idolized him."

Harry's whiskey-soaked brain was having a very hard time processing the image. It was like believing that Vernon Dursley had won Good Samaritan of the Year … it just didn't compute. He shook his head and blinked his eyes repeatedly, hoping the words would make more sense, but they didn't. He even opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say.

"To my eternal shame," Albus continued, "I did what probably any selfish eighteen-year-old would do. I made plans to have Arianna committed to St. Mungo's. And one fateful afternoon Aberforth learned of my plan and confronted me. Gellert wasn't there at the time, although he did figure rather prominently in our argument. You see …," Albus said, uncharacteristically fidgeting, "Aberforth felt that I was seeing Gellert through blind eyes – that I was imagining kindnesses that weren't there and ignoring problems that were. Specifically … Aberforth believed that I was looking to Gellert as a stand-in father and had therefore missed the fact that Gellert … well … he fancied me."

"Couldn't've been more obvious if he was a purple dragon dancing in a polka-dot tutu," Abe announced, now laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

"Oh, wouldn't Hagrid love to see that?" Albus unexpectedly asked with a goofy grin on his face.

Harry was certain Grindelwald was a wizard, not a dancing dragon, so he suddenly felt rather lost in the conversation. "Er, about Grindelwald?"

The innocent question sobered the two brothers. Losing his smile, Albus spoke. "At the time, I thought Abe was being utterly ridiculous. Gellert and I were friends and nothing more. But he," Albus paused to jab his thumb in his brother's direction, "insisted that Gellert wanted a romantic relationship with me … that that was why he wanted to travel so badly … so the two of us would be alone and he could put his moves on me."

"So there we were, the three of us in our living room. Aberforth and I were nearly to blows, and poor Arianna was just watching and listening. At some point we'd both drawn our wands, and she must have felt threatened … and her wild magic struck out. Aberforth and I were both flung across the room. He crashed through a low coffee table and I landed none too gently on the stairs. But Arianna … she was thrown sideways against the hearth. The impact snapped her neck."

Albus was on a roll, speaking faster and faster as he _finally_ told his guiltiest secret. "The day of the funeral, I told Aberforth that I was still taking my trip. I just felt I needed to get away – run away from my problems, if I am being truthful. He did not take the news well. He said I should be staying with him and that I didn't understand the importance of family. We had a few choice words – and by choice I mean words that would make your fellow classmates blush. It ended with him punching me in the face, if you can believe it."

"So now you know … why there was always animosity between the two of us, why he was surprised that I would want to take you in, and especially why he always seemed to be expecting me to mess up and do you harm. Because he knew that I had forsaken my family once before."

In a small voice he added, "It's still my greatest regret."

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Well, I ended up not changing the back story as much as I had thought I would, mostly because a lot of the changes I originally made just made it more convoluted, which was not my intent. I still changed some things – had to really – for two reasons. First, with Albus straight (not that there's anything wrong with that), the whole Albus/Gellert love story had to be tweaked; and second, I felt it had to be clear that neither brother was _directly_ responsible for Ariana's death so the brothers could eventually reconcile. It's easier for Abe to forgive when they share the burden then it would have been if Abe believed Albus had struck the killing blow.

Fred and George hijacked the first part of the chapter – those 'Weasley Rules' are all theirs. I just typed what they told me to type. I plan on doing a short story after this one is complete centered on the Weasley Rules, so feel free to share your thoughts on them. After all, I have 30 more to write.


	32. Gringotts Revisited

Warning – claiming to own Harry Potter when you don't can result in hair loss, warts on your finger tips, a strange fluid leaking from your ears, an inability to recall your own phone number when asked, Santa Clause skipping your house, your cat using your shoe as his litter box, and/or lawsuits. Best to avoid it at all costs.

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**Chapter 32. Gringotts Revisited**

Harry was in his room in Albus' quarters. He wouldn't have known this fact, except that when he was able to shake off the sleepy haze, he identified the object he was staring at as his private bookcase with it's collection of paperback books, which definitely wasn't located in his dorm room. It surprised him that he could see the books so clearly, until he realized he'd slept with his glasses on.

'_Odd, I don't remember going to sleep at all.'_

Lifting his head brought an explosion of pain all at once different and better and so much worse than any caused by Voldemort. His mouth tasted like a sour pickle, his eardrums began thudding with each beat of his heart, and there was an ache above his left ear where his glasses frame had become imbedded in the side of his head.

From beyond his open bedroom door he could hear Minerva calling for Albus – and the memory of last night came flooding back into his brain. Had they really? … and Albus, too? … and all those secrets revealed … it was enough to make his mind spin; well, if it wasn't already.

The sound of a door being slammed open followed by a loud groan and something he couldn't make out in a high-pitched female voice told him Minerva had found Albus. Deciding there was a time and a place for Gryffindor bravery, and that this was not it, he lumbered off the bed and softly closed his bedroom door. Let Albus face the music; he planned to claim ignorance. At least, he would if he could get his stomach to stop churning like the English Channel and his head to stop beating out the national anthem. And if the room would just hold still for a moment, that would be good too.

In his quietest whisper, one hand gently rubbing the side of his head, he called for Do—no, Kreacher. He didn't think he'd survive Dobby's exuberance today.

"Master called," the elf asked as he bowed to the ground.

"Hangover … need something … and don't tell anyone," he managed to spit out.

Moments later, Kreacher returned with a little red bottle with a bright yellow label, the familiar handwriting of his potions professor spelling out "Drunkenness Reducer". Not particularly caring that the elf probably stole the brew, he downed it as quickly as its bitter taste would allow.

This must have been a special brew of Snape's, for it worked better than the last hangover potion he'd taken. Kreacher watched, seemingly fascinated, as Harry slowly stood taller and flexed his neck from side to side. The symptoms didn't completely go away – no potion could do that – but at least the drumming in his head had stopped.

Harry's next order of business was to locate his wand, which he found inside his left shoe. Oddly, his right shoe was still on his foot. Trying to decide his next move, he checked the time and discovered he'd missed breakfast – that must have been what brought Minerva looking for Albus. Knowing he'd never survive the volume and brightness in the Defense classroom, let alone actually concentrate on any lessons, he asked Kreacher to please inform Professor Tonks – nah, all his teachers for today – that he had the stomach flu and wouldn't be in class.

Albus came into the room as he was peeling off yesterday's shirt. "The coast, as they say, is clear." His guardian looked sickly, was moving at a snail's pace, and his voice was softer than Madam Pince's. "Minerva poured my potion down the drain," he explained when he noticed Harry watching his every move. "She feels that suffering the consequences might drill some sense back into my brain."

"Well, in her defense," Harry allowed, enjoying the moment entirely too much, for he remembered quite clearly Albus' reaction the first time he'd let Harry experiment with firewhisky, "drinking never solves anything." That's what Vernon used to always say at the end of every story he told in which someone other than himself had too much to drink.

"Quite the contrary," Albus explained as he gently eased himself down to sit on Harry's bed. "Had you managed to stay awake in History of Magic a time or two you would already know that the Second Goblin Rebellion of 1701 was settled when Yakk the Large-Mouthed out-drank Minister Adams. How else did you think the goblins received permission to keep a dragon in the heart of London?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry summoned Kreacher and asked for another little red bottle, which he then handed to his guardian. If Albus recognized the writing on the label he kept it to himself. Closing his eyes, he downed the potion in one gulp.

"Ahhhh," he said as the potion worked its magic. "Much better, though I'd still prefer to spend the day abed. Unfortunately, there are meetings to attend and students to discipline and Professors to placate, so I shall have to press on. I take it your professors are not expecting you today?"

"Er, yeah … stomach flu," Harry weakly claimed, rubbing his stomach to prove his point (despite the fact that Albus knew better).

"Then I shall leave you to convalesce." As Albus stood to leave, Harry almost stopped him … almost asked if he remembered correctly what he'd learned last night … almost asked about Ariana … but decided that neither of them were up for that kind of talk right now, and so he silently watched Albus leave instead.

Once alone in his room, Harry stripped out of his uncomfortable jeans and climbed back in bed. He nibbled on some of the fruit that had appeared on his nightstand and then snuggled down to sleep away his sick day. He finally headed back to Gryffindor Tower during the last class of the day, where he spread his work on an empty table while waiting on his friends.

Said friends found him elbows-deep in an essay for Charms, and between scribbles he told them about his brief illness ("we must have picked something up from Uncle Abe, even Seba seemed a bit off this morning") and his plan for the evening. There was something Uncle Abe had complained of the previous night … a wrong that in Harry's mind needed to be righted.

Hermione begged off, not wanting to break any school rules needlessly so close to the holidays, Neville wanted to help but had plans to study with Hannah (he'd explained with a blush that gave him away), and Ron just thought it sounded ridiculous and boring. But Ginny … sweet mischievous Ginny … he'd known he could count on her. And so, while the majority of the student body was gathering in the Great Hall for their evening meal, Harry and Ginny were herding an uncooperative goat through one secret passage after another until they eventually made it to the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office.

Harry uttered his password and the gargoyle moved aside, but not before wriggling his nose and narrowing his eyes at the animal. Getting the goat onto the moving staircase proved problematic, as its front legs would be pulled up the staircase before they could get its hind legs onto the steps, causing the goat to fall over and slide back down to the base of the stairs. After the second attempt Harry tried to explain to Brian that they wanted to take him to see Abe so he needed to cooperate.

"Oh, honestly," Ginny huffed, "it's a goat, Harry. _Wingardium__ Leviosa_."

Ginny's wand work made the trip up much easier and, as Harry had expected, Albus wasn't in his office as they passed through. Several of the portraits took offense to the "dirty barn animal" being in their former office but Harry pointedly ignored them. They entered the main room of the family quarters to find Abe stretched out on the couch, his legs tucked under a patchwork quilt of blues, greens, and very bright orange.

Abe turned toward the door when he heard the commotion. His eyes locked on Brian's. It was a joyous reunion all around.

By the time Albus returned from dinner and came barging in, no doubt at the insistence of the old Heads – _'__nosey__ old__ mules__'_ – Harry and Ginny had convinced Abe to play a game of hangman. Of course, in the magical version the little man spelled out suggestions and begged for mercy with every wrong guess. Brian was lying across Abe's legs like a lapdog, and all three were laughing loudly at Abe's attempt to solve Harry's puzzle.

"No, it's not Minny Measley … and, _sweetie_, don't ever make me the puzzle again."

Upon catching sight of Albus in the doorway, Harry was certain he was in deep trouble. But Albus merely shrugged his shoulders at seeing the dratted, dirty and possibly disease infested goat in his living room before excusing himself and returning to his office. As the door shut behind him, he was heard muttering, "_Minny__ Measley_?"

By Wednesday Harry was almost caught up from his missed day. He only needed to finish a three-foot essay for Defense so he grilled Hermione for ideas as they headed for Potions. When they arrived at the classroom to find a note canceling class Harry brushed off Hermione's concerns, just thankful he could use the newly-free period to finish. It wasn't hard to convince Hermione to head to the library with him and together they began re-climbing the staircases.

Harry was most of the way up the staircase between the second and third floors when he suddenly swayed. For just a second, it appeared that he'd regained his balance in time, but then he cried out as his body fell backwards.

Not that Harry knew he'd fallen. No, to Harry it almost felt like Apparition as he was pulled into another scene … _another __body_ …

He was beyond enraged, which had caused him to put a bit more force into the curse than he'd planned. He wasn't even certain of the identity of his victim, he'd just cursed the first one he spotted.

He paused, taking a moment to figure out how his perfect morning had turned into this. It had started normal enough: poached hippogriff eggs and venison cooked medium rare over the latest report from his operative at Hogwarts. But then, not an hour ago, Wormtail had come to him blathering on about Gringotts and Lestranges and trouble and dead goblins, and he'd known something major had happened. Having neither time nor patience for the stammering fool, he'd brutally ripped into Wormtail's mind and found what little the rat knew – whatever had caused major damage at Gringotts, Bellatrix and her brother-in-law were tangled in the middle of it.

That was not good. He needed those uppity goblins to remain neutral; at least until he had the Ministry and Hogwarts under his control, then he'd put those dirty-blooded creatures in their place. But if there was trouble at Gringotts and the goblins felt he was in any way responsible … he needed to know the full story, and he needed to know now!

So he'd taken an unusual step – he'd summoned his followers right in the middle of the work morning. The first to arrive, Greyback and Jugson, had been ordered to take Vespa and get to the wizards' bank for a first-hand account. Wormtail was sent to use his only talent – that being his Animagus form – to sniff out what the Aurors knew.

Dolohov, who'd arrived just as those three departed, had been ordered to oversee the arrival of the rest of the followers while he retired to another room. Away from prying eyes he immersed himself in his pet's mind. Using her eyes as she slithered down the Gringotts tunnels, he'd seen the truth of the damage for himself. He'd heard the whispers of blame. He wasn't able to hold the connection as long as he'd have liked – she wasn't as special as Nagini had been, after all – but he'd seen enough. The damage was immense.

And when he'd come back to himself he'd stormed into a room full of his followers and let his frustration and anger get the best of him as he targeted the first human he saw.

It had helped to calm him … but now he had to focus on this meeting. He slowed his breathing, for it would do him no good to lose his patience and kill someone before he uncovered the full story.

Coming to stand before his throne, he turned to view his assembled - his most loyal followers who had responded to his call despite its poor timing. How they explained their sudden need to leave their job had been their problems. And by Mordred they'd better have the answers he sought! And the others … those that missed this meeting … who foolishly put work ahead of their Master … he would deal with them later.

Before he could speak, Wormtail scampered back into the room and whispered his report before stumbling over himself to blend into the crowd.

Sweeping the room in a cold gaze, he barked, "Masks off," and at least took satisfaction in their rush to comply. He smiled for the briefest moment, relishing their nervous shuffling at being so exposed.

"My loyal friends … my worthy ones … I have learned something most disturbing. Gringotts has suffered massive damage and the goblins dare to lay the blame at my feet. And why, you may ask. Why would the goblins think this?" He paused and looked at the fearful and confused looks on their faces. "I have made no move against the goblins … no attempt to take over their precious bank. At least … _not__ yet_," he added with a grotesque grin. "They claim it was two of my followers that are responsible – that two of my _most__ loyal__ followers_ attacked Gringotts."

"For reasons I cannot begin to imagine, they seem to be correct. Two of my own … my trusted … foolishly did this. And they will be dealt with, of that have no doubt. But what … what could they have possibly hoped to accomplish? What possible reason could they have had to act without my permission? What could they have been thinking?"

He walked slowly in front of his flock, searching their faces and minds, looking for the sign that one of them knew something they didn't want to tell. And there – Crabbe, the malcontent who had done little more than mope around since his son's incarceration – _he__ knew!_

He timed it well, waiting until he'd passed by the man, making him think he was in the clear. Then … "Crabbe," he snapped, causing the man to jump in place. Twirling around, he purposely stepped into the wizard's personal space. He reached out and lightly placed his left hand on the man's shoulder, in what may have looked like a friendly gesture, but which in fact almost scared the piss right out of the cowardly man.

"I find myself wondering, how is it that you knew there was trouble between Bellatrix and Rabastan, yet I did not?" When the man did nothing but tremble, he took a small step back, keeping his grip on Crabbe's shoulder. "Why does he not answer, I wonder?" he called out as he looked around. "Does he think to protect his friend Rabastan … or does he think he can hide something from Lord Voldemort?"

Turning his horrible red eyes back to Crabbe, he caresses the man's cheek in a parody of comfort as he asked, "you have something to confess?"

"I … I …," Crabbe fumbled, unable to put his thoughts into words. A strong odor filled the area, and he dropped his hand as he stepped back to keep his robes and feet dry.

"Worthless," he declared, and Crabbe bowed low as he mumbled his agreement. With a malicious snap of his wrist, he sent Crabbe flying into the wall. A loud crunching sound filled the room as Crabbe slumped to the ground, where out of either wisdom or necessity he stayed put.

Turning his body slowly, he swung his arm wide as he asked, "Can't even one of you tell your Lord what he asks?"

"My Lord," a voice near the back finally spoke up. "I beg your forgiveness … I ... we … I though you knew. Bellatrix and Rabastan, they fight over the family money. Each claims the fortune is theirs." Emboldened, as he hadn't been hexed yet, the elder Nott stepped closer and dared to look up. "They were never overly fond of one another and with Rodolphus dead their fighting escalated. That's all I know, m-my Lord."

Nott grew silent, and his Lord took a moment to contemplate the information. As interesting as this was, it didn't explain the near-destruction of Gringotts. "And …" he demanded. And waited. "Perhaps I am being too polite … perhaps if I ask a bit more forcefully …"

It was Pettigrew … stupid, worthless Wormtail, who came forward and squeaked out the missing piece to the puzzle. "An owl, my Lord. One arrived early this morning from the goblins demanding payment. Something about there not being enough funds in their vault to cover a withdrawal. I-I could not hear much of what they were saying – they were outside under my window but I could tell it was heated. Then she slapped him, and he grabbed her … and then … they Disapparated. I don't know which one of them did it."

"Now was that so hard?" he asked the group. "You've done well to tell me this Wormtail. As your reward you will not be punished for not speaking up immediately. But Lord Voldemort is only this generous once … should you hesitate to tell me all in the future …"

"Of course, my Lord. I will tell immediately, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord. You are most—"

"Yes, yes … indeed I am," he dismissed the groveling fool. "Now go outside and find that letter."

It took Wormtail all of five seconds to run from the room, his hands covering his behind as if such a juvenile move could actually protect him from a curse.

He began pacing again, stopping from time to time to glare at first this follower and then that one, but all the while one thing kept repeating in his mind – _not__ enough __funds __in__ the __vault_; a vault that should have been overflowing with gold and trinkets, especially one very important golden cup. Now that little Peter had let the cat out of the bag, others were coming forward with their own observations on the Lestrange feud, but he wasn't interested in idle gossip. He needed to know what was happening with that vault!

He stopped before one of the few Death Eaters who was not muttering nonsense. "You are silent, Sseveruss. Tell me, my little snake handler, what do you know of this feud?"

"My Lord," replied a familiar voice, "while it is no surprise to me that Bellatrix Lestrange is insane enough to attack the goblins, and I know that there was never any particular love between she and her brother-in-law, I assure you this is the first I've heard of any feud."

"So you had no reason to believe there was trouble brewing," he asked, putting special emphasis on the word brewing and smiling at his own cleverness.

"None, my Lord," Snape quickly replied. "But I have spent much of my time away from here … watching the enemy. As I normally go out of my way to avoid spending time with the criminally insane, I doubt I would have been her choice of confidant." "My Lord," he added with a slight bow, no doubt realizing he'd allowed too much of his own personality out.

"True enough, my old friend," he added with a chuckle. "I imagine few want to cozy up to the fire with you. But Severus … even my favored cannot overstep their bounds. _Crucio_."

It was quite satisfying to see the overly-proud Snape fall to his knees in agony. In times like these, when too many were taking it upon themselves to act, he needed to remind them who was in charge. When Snape was done groaning, he bade him to rise and commented, "I know I ask much of you, dear Severus. Perhaps when victory is ours, I shall reward your sacrifices by putting you in charge of that school you love so much."

"As you wish," Snape was able to ground out, obviously still dazed from his recent brush with the stone floor.

A noise in the outer hall caught his attention just before the doors flew open to admit Jugson, who had returned from Gringotts with an unconscious Bellatrix Lestrange draped over his shoulder. He staggered into the room, coming to a stop just shy of his Lord, and bowed in greeting. Behind him, a trail of blood showed the path he'd traveled.

"Take her," he demanded, and the nearest Death Eaters took the unconscious woman and placed her at their Lord's feet. "And you … speak."

"My Lord … there is damage everywhere," Jugson explained. "Their dragon, it was wounded. It got loose and went on a rampage. It was finally killed, but … there are cave-ins, fires burning, and carts derailed. Dead bodies … humans and goblins. I was separated from Greyback and your pet but I used my talents to make my way down to the high security vaults. I found Bella just outside her vault and pulled her from the rubble. I thought I'd best grab her before the Aurors arrived … but I fear the goblins may have seen me take her."

"That is unfortunate, but you made a wise choice. It would not do for sweet Bella to fall into enemy hands. But I must know, was the vault damaged?"

"One wall crumbled, I think. But it would not matter. It looked empty to me."

"Well, my little angle," he softly, almost sweetly spoke to Bellatrix, who being unconscious couldn't even hear him. He knelt down, cradling her face in his hands. "It appears you have some explaining to do. I hope you've enjoyed your nap, I need you to wake up now." Giving her cheek a light, fatherly pat, he stood.

His first two spells failed to rouse the witch, but undeterred, he aimed his wand and commanded, _"__Plenus__ Excito__"__, _and a pulsing beam of angry red and violet struck her in the chest. This was no simple waking spell; this was dark magic meant to revive the nearly dead. And revive it did, for on the ground before him she began to groan and her body began to seize. Blood leaked onto the floor from somewhere near her waist, and trailed from a nasty jagged cut running down her neck, and flowed from the fleshy stubs that had once been fingers.

"Bella … that's it … wake for your Lord," he coaxed in a sickening imitation of a lover waking his partner.

She groaned louder and her eyes fluttered. Her right arm came up to shield her eyes from the bright lights above her.

Once again dropping to the ground, he leaned forward – so far that he should not have been able to keep his balance, yet somehow he did – and he calmly spoke. "Who told you to start a fight at Gringotts, my pet?"

Her only response was a groan.

Getting even closer, he hissed, in a progressively louder voice. "What foolishness have you done? Where is it?"

"Nnn … sssnnn … nnna…"

"ANSWER ME!" he screamed, and when he got nothing else from her he jumped up, pointed his wand, and shouted "_CRUCIO!_"

Her damaged body jerked and bounced and spurted even more blood onto the floor, but she didn't scream. She'd lost her tiny grasp on consciousness.

In a rage he kicked her once and stormed away; but then turned back and shrieked _"__Plenus__ Excito__"_ again.

This time, her eyes fully opened and she managed to mumble "Maa-laa".

"Lift her."

The two nearest Death Eaters scrambled forward and picked her up, supporting her body between them.

"Where is it, Bellatrix?" he demanded in a cold voice, glaring into her eyes.

What came out of her mouth wasn't a word, was barely even a sound, did not sound human. It was sharp and loud and made the others in the room shrink back and close their eyes tight. Then her eyes rolled back and her head flopped backward. And he knew … she was dead … and her secrets were lost.

All across the room his follower fidgeted as they tried to stay as quiet as possible, for none wanted to risk his wrath. The two Death Eaters even continued to support the dead body for fear of drawing his attention to themselves.

He continued to stare at her face as if it could still tell him something but his mind was in turmoil. Pushing aside his greatest concern – that the Hufflepuff cup is now in unknown hands – he instead focused on the lost funds. He could not afford that loss either, not since Narcissa's defection had put the Malfoy fortune out of reach. And the rest of his followers vaults … with the Goblins blaming him they would now likely side with Dumbledore and that fool Minister and those vaults would be lost to him.

It was Greyback's return with Vespa that brought sound back to the room.

Ignoring – or perhaps not even noticing the mood of the room – the werewolf strode forward and carelessly dropped Vespa at his lord's feet, earning him an angry hiss from the reptile. "Bloody thing bit me," he dared to complain.

"Oh, do stop moaning, you worthless beast," he snapped at the man. "I would have thought a fierce warrior such as yourself could have withstood a bit of pain. Tell me what you learned that makes you think you've earned you such insolence."

"The goblin I _questioned_," Greyback started, grinning at the memory, "claims the vault was empty when it was opened and the Lestranges immediately attacked each other. Wayward spells somehow collapsed a wall and freed the dragon and it attacked everything in its path as it traveled through the tunnels trying to escape. Rabastan's dead – his chest's flatter than a galleon. And the dragon killed many before it was taken down," Greyback added, clearly impressed by the animal's destruction, "and many others were injured or killed by the fires, falling rocks, and derailed carts."

It was nothing more than expected, except maybe the dragon's part in the damage and deaths. "Anything else," he demanded.

"When I was done with my questions, I had to kill the goblin to shut it up."

"FOOL," he cried as he cursed the werewolf. "What made you think you were allowed to think for yourself?" He added a Cruciatus for good measure. "Be glad you have such worth to me or I might leave you to die from Vespa's venom."

Turning back to Snape, he commanded, "Fix the beast for me, Severuss. You, at least, I can trust to do something right. I can trust that, can I not?"

"Of course, my Lord. I am always yours."

"You all see," he called out, making a wide sweeping motion with his arm, " … see how my most loyal is so quick to respond … so eager to do my bidding? You see how he awaits my orders? _Learn__ from__ him!_ And Severuss," he added in a calmer tone, "you may return to your mundane job with the mudblood lover when you are finished, and you may tell Dumbledore that the Lestranges were behind today's unpleasantness. I am certain he will have already gleaned the basic facts. Beyond that you may make up whatever you will but under no circumstance are you to let him know that I am upset over the lost fortune."

Lifting his voice, he added, "The rest of you … I consider the Lestrange fortune mine. You _will_ find it … every coin … every trinket … all of it."

They most likely voiced their agreement as they bowed and left; he didn't know. He'd tuned out, certain they would obey, so he could concentrate on massaging his throbbing temple. Trying to find a way to salvage this mess was fast giving him a migraine.

-0-

Harry had been most of the way up the staircase between the second and third floors when he suddenly swayed. For just a second, it appeared that he'd regained his balance in time, but then he cried out as his body fell backwards … bouncing and sliding down the stairs until he landed on the floor, where his unconscious body rolled over once before stopping face down at the feet of a startled Hufflepuff.

The young witch took one look at Harry's twitching, bleeding body and screamed. Loudly and repeatedly.

Hermione, meanwhile, had snapped out of her shock-induced paralysis and sprinted back down the stairs to kneel at his side. She called his name as she tapped his upturned cheek lightly in an attempt to rouse him. She almost tried again when she noticed the rapid eye movement beneath his eyelids and she knew Harry wasn't just unconscious.

Shooting a jet of water at the loud-mouthed Hufflepuff, she shouted, "be useful and go get someone … a Professor … anyone that can help!"

Harry, of course, had no knowledge of the uproar he'd caused with his tumble down the stairs, what with his being otherwise occupied running a Death Eater meeting. But returning to consciousness in his least favorite bed in his least favorite room in the castle, he had a pretty good idea. He at least remembered that he'd been on the staircase when the vision had started. Judging by the residual tingling in his skull and neck, and the itching on his left arm and right knee that indicated a dermal-rejuvenator salve was working its magic, he must have fallen down them. With a sigh he shut his eyes and let his mind drift until he heard footsteps approaching.

" 'Low, Madam Pomfrey," he managed to croak out without opening his eyes. Funny how he could recognize her perfume – a light, fresh scent that reminded him of hyacinths in full bloom and almost completely masked the sanitizing cream she was forever rubbing into her hands.

"Stairs are for climbing, not tumbling, Mister Potter. Now, can you open your eyes and tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"Four."

"With your eyes open, if you please," she chided.

"Why bother … it's always four."

A gentle coughing to his right finally brought his eyes open and he looked over to see his amused guardian. "Good to see your sense of humor is intact," Albus said. "Perhaps Poppy would allow us a few minutes in private if you could kindly answer her question."

It actually took a series of questions, an honest assessment of what hurt, and proving he could stretch his right arm out to his side and then bring his index finger in to touch his nose in one fluid movement before she dropped a mild sedative potion on his bedside table and excused herself.

Propped up on some fluffy pillows, Harry described in as much detail as he could everything he'd seen. Bellatrix's death was particularly difficult, partly because he felt like he'd caused her death himself (even though he knew it hadn't really been him) but also because there was a rather large part of him that was glad she was dead. She'd suffered the perfect death in his mind – by her Master's hands because she'd fallen that far out of his favor. Poetic justice for a woman who aspired to be Voldemort's favorite and most loyal, and who'd probably loved him more than she'd loved her own dearly-departed husband.

Albus allowed Harry a moment of contemplative silence, but only a moment, for it didn't do to dwell on the negative, as his recent foray with alcohol had reminded him.

"It is interesting to hear the details from such a perspective," Albus began. "You have been asleep for some time, my boy. You may not have noticed, but it is going on half past six. News of the attack on Gringotts has already spread throughout the country. What I find most fascinating in your story is the fact that it was not technically a Death Eater attack, for it has certainly been perceived as such. Not only was the damage inflicted by known Death Eaters, but Bellatrix was removed from Gringotts by Rayburn Jugson, who is another known Death Eater. It was presumed to have been done at Voldemort's order. The fact that his reptilian familiar was seen slithering through the destruction, apparently surveying the damage, certainly lent credence to this belief."

"The goblin nation was, therefore, swift in its denouncement of Voldemort, his followers, and his movement in general. They have formally announced that they will seize the vaults of anyone convicted of having the Dark Mark as restitution for the damage to their building and the loss of goblin lives, not to mention their dragon. Minister Bluestreak has already made it known that the Ministry will not fight this new policy so long as the goblins first allow the Ministry to levy a fine of up to one-half the value of the vault as penalty for breaking the law."

Harry blinked as he scratched his head. "I must still be a bit fuzzy … I'm not sure I follow."

"Oh, it's simple really. The Ministry will allow the goblins to seize the vaults – something they are normally prohibited from doing without first petitioning the Wizengamot – as long as they agree to hand over half the gold. A bit troublesome, in that innocent family members can be left destitute under such a policy, but I suppose smart family members have already opened separate vaults. And oddly enough, Narcissa Malfoy's fortune cannot be seized, for with her dead husband's body swimming in wait in Voldemort's hidden cave, it is exceedingly unlikely he can ever be convicted of having the Dark Mark."

"So this really was the disaster that Voldemort thought it was? He worried that the goblins would blame him." Chuckling, he added, "it's kinda nice to see things going wrong for him. Makes him more human. And hey … did Professor Snape make it back safely? And did he, er, keep you in the dark? It was kinda weird to hear him lie and know that he was lying, but to believe what he said at the same time. It's probably a good thing that Voldemort can't feel my emotions when I'm there unless they're really strong or we'd have a major problem."

"I believe Minerva calls that your dumb luck," Albus agreed, "although perhaps it is more helpful that he cannot hear your thoughts as you appear to hear his."

"Yeah, I see your point."

Resting his hand on Harry's knee, Albus added, "And you would do well to remember that it probably works in the reverse as well – that you would most likely not hear his thoughts, nor share his emotions, unless they were strong."

"True, but most of his emotions are strong so that's not such a problem. Muggles call it manic-depressive, I think." He saw Albus' slight smile at the joke, which he was rather grateful for, as he was about to get serious again. "But you didn't really answer my question. _Is_ this the disaster he thinks it is?"

"I would not normally accuse Tom of understating a situation, but personally, I would put this on par with being accidentally vanquished by a toddler. In fact, I fear how he may retaliate. Knowing he made out-right enemies of the goblins, he may decide it is time for all-out attacks … or he may change nothing. It is exceptionally hard to predict his response in this instance."

With a light shake of his head, which caused a dull throbbing to spread across the back of his neck, Harry replied, "Well, since he's totally insane, what would it say about you if you _could_ understand his mind?"

"Point taken," Albus chuckled, "and now I see that you need to take your potion and get some more rest. I'll come check on you again before I turn in for the night."

Picking up his pale pink potion, Harry looked up and innocently asked, "Do you think you could send Ginny?" He'd expected Albus to quickly agree, but when he saw the dark look that passed across the man's face, he paused before the potion could touch his lips. "What's wrong? Did someone … oh no, did Bill get hurt today?"

"Not William, no," Albus responded, but his sorrowful tone and heavy eyes told Harry that someone had, which he confirmed by adding, "I received word about an hour ago. Fleur Weasley was discovered trapped inside a twisted cart that had derailed. She did not make it."

"She … _no_. They just got married, and they're having a … what about the baby? Please tell me it made it!"

"A healthy little girl, I've been told," Albus assured him. "A bit small, but then she came into this world a bit early. Luckily, magic was on her side, and she should be able to go home to her father in a day or two."

"Poor Bill," Harry found himself saying.

"William will survive, Harry, and Fleur will live on in her daughter. And you need to take your potion and get some rest. I'll stay here until you fall asleep."

Knowing Albus meant that as a command, and knowing that right now unconsciousness sounded pretty appealing, he gulped down the overly-sweet potion and got comfortable in the bed. Just as he drifted off to sleep he felt a hand gently stroke his head and in spite of the horrible news of the day, a small smile settled on his face.

When he next woke it was to a small army of sad, drawn faces wearing pasted on smiles. Sitting up as he pushed his glasses on, he found his lap full of a crying Ginny. Standing nearby were Ron, Hermione and Fred.

The group stood soundlessly, watching Ginny continue to cry, until finally Ron broke the silence. "New bed, isn't it?"

"What?" Hermione practically shouted, not understanding the question at all.

But Harry was smiling, and Ginny had lifted her head slightly off his chest with an almost-laugh as he answered, "Nah, I was in it once in Third Year – remember the Dementors during Quidditch? But yeah, when I can I ask to be on the other side of the room. Those beds have better lighting and get served first. This is actually my least favorite bed in here. It's too lumpy and there's a spring that pokes my bum when I try to roll over."

"You actually have a least favorite bed in the infirmary? Mate, you are in here too often," Fred quipped, sounding almost normal.

Harry tried to reach his pillow to throw at the tosser but Ginny still had her arms wrapped around him, saving Fred from a good thrashing. As everyone settled down he asked, "how's everyone doing?"

"Well, you know, good as you can expect," Fred began, and then he talked about those still at home – George's pained silence, Arthur's stoic approach to handling the affairs, and Charlie's childish comments about sleeping princesses who wake with a kiss. The worst, he said, was his mother.

"Turns out she never really got to know Fleur. She accepted her as part of the family and all, because of the baby, but she's all torn up that she never bonded with her … never thought of her as a daughter the way she thinks of Harry here as a son."

"So I'm the standard?" Puffing his chest out in false bravado, Harry added, "How will you all ever find anyone that measures up to me?"

"Hey, Mum likes Hermione too, ya know," Ron said, obviously trying to defend his friend.

Harry caught Fred's eye, and they both burst out laughing. And oh, it felt good to laugh after the day's bad news. Ginny even sat up straight to join in. Hermione smiled at the joke, though she succeeded in holding in her laughter. Only Ron was left wondering what was so amusing.

As everyone relaxed over tea (which was thankfully brought by one of those shy, quiet house-elves) Fred explained that the family would be holding a simple memorial over Christmas break. Bill had too much on his hands and Albus had shared his concern that Voldemort might be looking for things to target at the moment – and wouldn't a memorial service guaranteed to be full of Order of the Phoenix members make a perfect one?

Fleur's body was being taken back to France to be buried in the Delacour family plot. Bill had surprised everyone with that decision, but he was adamant that she'd been a part of their family much longer, and besides, he had baby Josette.

The girls had properly 'ohh-ed' and 'ahh-ed' over the name, declaring it perfect. "I wish I'd thought of that one. What do you think of Josette Potter, Sweetie?"

Ron caught it first. "Whoa … who's Sweetie?"

"That'd be me," Harry sheepishly explained. "It was either that or snuggle-bunny."

"I liked snuggle-bunny," Ginny pouted.

"Well I prefer Sweetie," Fred piped up. "From now on, you're Sweetie Potter."

"I say, Sweetie, any idea when you're getting out of here," Ron asked Harry.

"Now be nice to Sweetie, Ron, he's had a rough day," Fred chided his brother.

"Ginny," Harry interrupted before they could continue, "_never,__ ever_ call me that again. And Fred?" Harry called, "You know how George is missing his ear? I can make it so you're missing something too, only it won't be quite so noticeable to the general public, if you get my meaning?"

"Oh, I like that," Fred replied, tossing his hands in the air. "I'm trying to lighten the mood and you're threatening my manhood."

"Threatening manhoods, Mister Potter," asked a voice from behind the group, and as one they turned to find Madam Pomfrey glaring sternly, hands perched on her hips. "I dare say that you must be feeling better if you're making threats. At least they aren't directed at me."

"Never at you," he tried to say sweetly, but not being a natural-born flirt it came off more comical than anything.

"Perhaps your friends can wait in the hall. I only need a few minutes to check you over." Knowing a dismissal when they heard one, the rest said quick goodbyes (with hugs and kisses from the girls) and left him to his nurse's tender care.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:**New spell -Plenus Excito, from Latin meaning completely wake or rouse. This is very dark magic, Poppy would never dream of using it.


	33. Mistletoe, Merriment, and Mayhem

So, I don't own Harry Potter (of course I don't); but for Christmas my daughter got a Harry Potter book that comes with its own Marauders Map. Doesn't that sound cool? I plan to … _borrow it_ … from her very soon. Yeah, borrow. For a really long time.

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_**Disclaimer:** The following views expressed by Albus Dumbledore are not necessarily those of the author of this story, and they are especially not those of my husband, who is the father of one teenage daughter with another almost there._

_._

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**Chapter 33. Mistletoe, Merriment, and Mayhem  
**

The middle of December was anything but festive to Harry's way of thinking. Between Fleur's death and Abe's illness and missing Horcruxes and fallout from the Gringotts Invasion, as the event had been dubbed in the papers, it was hard to find holiday cheer. But Harry had made an important discovery about himself: he was an optimist. Had to be, really, otherwise he would've jumped from the Astronomy Tower years ago. (He discounted Fifth Year, as there's an exception to every rule.)

He tried to share his epiphany with Ginny by using an old Muggle saying about a glass being half full versus half empty. Unfortunately, she couldn't get past why he didn't just use his wand to refill the glass and he walked away dripping water thanks to her handy demonstration.

Now, being an optimist meant more to Harry than just trying to see the good in every situation and person – especially since he didn't believe there was good in every person. Exhibit One: Tom Riddle. What it did mean was when things seemed their worst he would try to find something good to focus on. Entering Gringotts now required a wee bit more than just baring your arms – but no Death Eaters were going to be accessing their gold any time soon. Fleur Weasley was dead – but Josette survived and was growing by the day. Remus Lupin was gone – but soon his son or daughter would be here, probably born with a chocolate addiction to boot.

It was almost Christmas but most of his friends didn't feel much like celebrating? He was going to do something about that. After all, he had a promise to keep … a ring to pay for … a prank to pull.

And so it was that Harry's friends gave in to his plea to arrive extra early for breakfast the morning of December 20th; Colin with his camera at the ready as instructed. Although Christmas Break had officially started a few days ago, the train wouldn't be taking students home until tomorrow so the Upper Years could enjoy their dance and the Lower Years their party. Harry supposed that meant the hall might not be very full, but it would be full enough that he could trust this morning's events would be all over the school by lunch.

It started so subtly that many missed it – the targets included. For days there had been festive boughs of holly innocently spread across the High table, occasionally wrapped around colorful candles or miniature reindeer that pranced in place but rather boring in and of itself. Plenty of students had commented on the decorations the first day but now hardly anyone paid them any attention.

Perhaps that explained why no one noticed when one particular branch slowly began to snake its way across the table. It was closing in on its prey when Harry noticed Minerva giving the plant an inquisitive look. Throwing caution aside he directed the enchanted holly to openly attack.

The ends of the holly branch leapt on their targets simultaneously. Minerva, who had been watching the holly with a dubious eye saw it coming but was too surprised to react before the branch twined its way around her left arm, pulling it toward its other prey as it tightened its grip.

Its other prey was the right arm (also known as the wand arm) of Albus Dumbledore. However, instead of trying to pull off the vine as Minerva was attempting to do, he merely watched its progress with a raised eyebrow. Eventually the holly had wound itself so tightly that the two arms were pulled tight together, bringing their respective bodies closer.

At that point Minerva gave up pulling at the vine and resorted to her wand. Stubbornly, the plant remained a tightly wound plant no matter which spell she tried. Flitwick jumped to Minerva's aid (unsuccessfully) as Albus continued to calmly sit and watch. He was successful in hiding the grin that spread across his face, but not in containing the light chuckles.

Laughter slowly filled the Great Hall as students began to notice their Professors' predicament. Several Gryffindors were shooting knowing looks at Harry, who subtly shook his head. Most eagerly turned their attention back to the action with one glaring exception; Hermione tilted her head as she watched Harry, the question clear on her face.

"Those spells won't work because I used a potion," Harry whispered before subtly pulling his wand. As she continued to watch he give his wand a gentle swirl. Turning to the table, her eyes grew round as she noticed the silver bell at the tip of the Headmaster's hat morphing into a swig of mistletoe.

It was a squeaky voice from the Hufflepuff table that shouted, "look … it's mistletoe," which quickly had most of those present pointing and whispering in that loud, not-really-a-whisper-at-all sort of way. A few more adventurous students, comfortable in the anonymity of the crowd, began pounding their hands on their tables and chanting "kiss … kiss … kiss".

"Well, my dear Professor," Albus' voice carried through the hall, "it would seem we are caught. I suggest we do as expected so we may be freed from our festive handcuffs."

With a huff of annoyance, Minerva leaned close and whispered something in Albus' ear – something which brought a smirk to her face and a bit of red to Albus' (not that the students could see that) – and then they brought their faces together and oh so very lightly pecked each other on the lips.

The hall filled with hoots and catcalls as they pulled apart. Their mission complete, the holly fell away from their wrists and the mistletoe turned back into a jingle bell.

"Yes, yes … mistletoe is indeed a fine Yule tradition," Albus called out as the hall quieted down. "I would, however, suggest that you make certain your partner is agreeable to your attentions before doing the same amongst yourselves. And on a completely unrelated note, Mister Potter, if you could please stop by my office after lunch? Something has recently come up which I need to discuss with you."

Turning his bright red face to his girlfriend, Mister Potter looking lovingly (or soppily, depending on who was watching) into his girlfriends eyes. "If I don't make it back Ginny, remember that I loved you," he dramatically pleaded.

"It's what you deserve, Harry," Hermione chided. "Honestly, embarrassing the Headmaster and our Head of House in public. If you were anyone else you'd be looking at detentions with Filch for a month."

"Yeah," he agreed, shooting her a big smile, "sometimes, it's good to be me."

"Don't get too cocky, silly boy," Ginny cut in, "McGonagall looks ready to transfigure you into a chamber pot." And indeed, Minerva's scowl was somewhere between 'detention and fifty points' and 'anything else, Dolores'.

Hunching away from his teacher's line of sight, Harry quite agreed with Ginny's assessment. But if the twins had taught him anything it was to never show fear in the face of imminent punishment. "Then you'd best kiss me while you still want to," he impishly suggested.

His wish was her command, only it was anything but the innocent kiss Albus had given Minerva. "Steamy" is how Lavender described it, while Parvati settled for a fake swoon.

Feeling eyes upon them, Harry decided he'd best stop before things progressed to an embarrassing level. He pulled back and gave Ginny a slight smile before excusing himself from the hall. In order to avoid any additional lectures or detentions (Hermione and Snape had both witnessed the kiss, after all) he kept himself hidden away until his growling stomach told him lunch was definitely over. _'Time to face the music.'_

Harry entered Albus' office to find the older man perched on the edge of his desk, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. His robes, which had been a jolly red at breakfast now looked strangely shadowed, as if to reflect the more serious mood of their wearer.

"Have a seat, my boy," Albus said as he motioned to the empty chair directly in front of him. "Normally I would offer you refreshments, but I think this discussion will be awkward enough that I dare say we'd best avoid the chocking hazards."

Sufficiently worried, Harry dropped into his chair, absently noting it wasn't as cushy as it normally felt. Looking up at the man who was looking down at him, he threw caution to the proverbial wind and launched into a quick and somewhat confusing explanation. "Look, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you and Minerva, but I had to do it, 'cause I'd made this promise to Abe. He wouldn't let me pay for the ring and so I had to agree to do something to you and it was the perfect ring so I had to do it and I didn't want to disappoint him and there's so little that makes him happy and—"

"_Harry_," Albus interrupted, which was a good thing as Harry was about to run out of breath. "Relax. Just between the two of us, I am not particularly perturbed over the prank; although when Minerva asks, I lectured you endlessly on the need to pay proper respect to your elders in general and the school staff in particular. Tell her I even worked your treatment of Professor Snape into it and I'm sure she'll believe you. Better yet, tell her I used her treatment of Professor Trelawney as an example." In a lower voice, as if he was now speaking to himself, he added, "That'll teach her to laugh when I'm trying to kiss her."

"Oh…kay," a confused Harry agreed. Based on what he'd just heard, he wondered if he should look up Luna and find out how to tell if a person is infected by Nargles. "So I'm not in trouble?" he finally managed to ask, "Can I go then?"

"Not in trouble over your prank; no. But that rather passionate display between yourself and Ginevra? I dare say there are some other things we should be discussing."

The threat – for that's how Harry took it – hung in the air. Imagining what was coming gave Harry horrible flashbacks to the previous year's conference with the Weasleys. He broke into a cold sweat, his stomach tried to shrink out of existence, and his face turned an interesting mix of red, white, and green that Albus mentally dubbed 'deathly grishwhid'.

Silence continued to dominate the room as Albus figured out where to start and Harry slunk low in his chair and attempted to wandlessly and wordlessly make himself invisible, or temporarily deaf, or even leave his body for a time, which he wasn't even sure was possible but by this point he was willing to try anything to avoid this discussion.

It was the plaintive hooting coming from an owl shaped metal jar that finally shattered the silence. With one last look to the heavens for guidance, Albus cleared his throat and began. "Harry … when two young people such as yourself and Ginny Weasley love each other they sometimes want to express that feeling in an intimate, physical way."

Across from him, Harry ducked his head and hid his face behind his hand. _'don't let him say it … don't let him say it … please don't let him say it'_

"And sometimes," Albus plowed on, "such physical contact includes sexual intercourse."

'_he said it ... where is that ringing coming from?'_

"Now, I would be lying if I said that intercourse is not enjoyable; nor will I sit here and tell you that it must be saved for the marriage bed. I may be many things, but a hypocrite I am not."

'_oh God … oh Merlin … he did not …' _Taking a risk, Harry peeked through his fingers, only to notice movement off to the side. Pivoting his head that direction he easily spotted its source. The Fat Lady who normally stood guard over Gryffindor Tower was whispering something to her friend Violet, who was perched on the lap of former Headmaster Dippet. With a rock forming in the pit of his stomach (which he was surprised to discover still existed), he looked around the room and found nearly every painting was now hosting guests, ranging from several of the Monks from the Divination tower to a dark man stirring a hand-held cauldron Harry had never seen before to Sir Cadogan's pony. Groaning loudly, he went back into hiding.

The only indication that Albus was aware of their audience was when he shifted so he could no longer see the portrait of Dexter Fortescue, who had been his own Headmaster. With a small cough to recapture Harry's attention, he continued. "I do, however, believe that intercourse should be saved for a time when both partners are mature enough – and I don't just mean anatomically or emotionally, although those are also important. I mean … both parties must be of an age to deal with any medical consequences."

'_Is this why Tom went dark? Did he have to sit through this?'_

"Should there be any. There are diseases, of course. Nasty things that can make certain body parts shrivel – which is actually one of the lesser symptoms, if you can imagine."

'_Voldemort can just kill me right now'_

"Although I don't see either you or Ginevra, or Ginny as I must remember to call her, being unfaithful or promiscuous so perhaps that is not such a concern. Having children while still in school, however, is a very real and very serious consequence."

'_I'd even welcome a Dementor at this point. Here Dementor, Dementor, Dementor.'_

"Now, there are of course potions and charms to deal with such concerns, not to mention a rather strange Muggle device—"

"_Please stop_!" Harry blurted out in a terrified voice. When Albus didn't continue, he lifted his head and pleaded, "Look … I … we … " and he made a strange swishing motion with his hand "with the Weasleys … and that book …"

Albus tried his best to stifle his chuckles. (But even he knew he wasn't entirely successful.) "I assure you, I have about as much desire to describe the mechanics as you have to hear them." From a portrait in the back, a quiet "dang it" could be heard. "But Harry, I do need to make certain that when you and Ginny are together privately you are thinking clearly and taking necessary precautions."

"Yes, clearly precautious. Got it," Harry replied, hoping to end this … this torture. The entire school would probably surrender to Voldemort if he showed up one afternoon and subjected them to this torment.

Albus raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to rephrase that? As it was stated, it does not instill great confidence."

Gritting his teeth, Harry spat out "Yes, we think it through and yes, we're cautious." Only after he'd said this did he realize the confession buried in his words.

Employing his best 'over the glasses' gaze, Albus finally asked what he'd hoped he could avoid – plausible deniability being what it is. "I fear asking … exactly how necessary is it for you to be cautious?"

"What? – No!" Harry sputtered. "You can't ask that. That'd be like me asking about you and Minerva. Some things are just too personal."

Cocking his head in confusion, Albus thought for a moment. He couldn't make any sense of Harry's statement so he had to ask, "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean?" Now that he was no longer the topic, Harry sat upright – actually leaning forward a bit as he did so – and explained, "I know all about the two of you. I've seen the cat hairs in places there shouldn't be cat hair, considering we don't own a cat. And I've seen her leaving your bedroom very extremely early in the morning. But I've never asked you about _that_."

Albus was so shocked he would have chocked on his tea if he'd been drinking any. "Are you trying to imply that something untoward is occurring in my bedroom whilst Minerva is in her Animagus form?"

"WHAT! No – no! I mean, that's just … ugh … _gross_."

Thankfully, at least to Albus' way of thinking, the boy looked decidedly pale by the suggestion.

Swallowing thickly, Harry bravely marched on. "But that doesn't mean something isn't happening in her human form."

Albus didn't respond. He shifted around to sit more comfortably and began to drum his fingers against each other and watched Harry and waited. When Harry had eventually begun to squirm in his seat, he asked, "Have you ever considered having carnal relations with Miss Granger?"

Thrown off by the question, Harry didn't even think to not answer. "No. Absolutely not. Well … maybe," he honestly added, "for about a week. In fourth year when Skeeter did that article, I might have wondered. And she looked great all done up for the dance. But it just didn't seem right. And besides, I was pretty sure Ron was interested."

"Perfectly understandable," Albus agreed, nodding his head politely and perhaps a bit patronizingly. "Minerva is my best friend, Harry. We share a passion for teaching, a love of a good Scottish malt, and bouts of insomnia that keep us up nights. When that happens, we sit up and keep each other company. I assure you, my relationship with Minerva has never been of a sexual nature … although I admit to having noticed that she has rather lovely attributes hidden under her robes," he added with a smile and a conspiratorial wink.

"Eww, no, just … no. I really don't want to know about what either of you have under your robes."

"A feeling I am certain we both share regarding you," Albus chortled. "But as much as I am enjoying discussing my imagined sex life, I believe it was your very real one that was the topic for today. Now, back to my question, which you masterfully did not answer, I might add. Have you and Ginny done anything that would make the Enjoined Betrothal fully binding?"

"I don't want to break the contract – I want to marry Ginny," Harry stated.

"And it does my heart good to know you are still committed; but again, you have not answered the actual question." With a weary look, he implored, "Don't make me be more blunt, Harry. Neither of us wants that, so please answer the question."

Sparing only a glance at his guardian before turning to speak to his candy dish, Harry quietly admitted, "it's pretty binding, I'd say."

Now properly cowed, Harry endured a thirty-five minute lecture on the virtue of abstinence, and the need for discretion, and the destructive force known as Molly Weasley's temper, and the importance that he actually be alive in order to defeat Voldemort. Through it all, Albus used imaginative euphemisms involving mundane things like vault keys and cooking utensils that left Harry torn between mortification and biting his tongue to keep from laughing – which he was certain would only prolong the agony. It ended with more information on how the magical society viewed school-aged parenthood, which was far below the general opinion of wizards with creature blood and only slightly higher than hags with lisps.

Finally, Harry felt he'd heard enough. "I get it," he cut in when Albus paused to catch his breath. "We'll be beyond careful. I promise." Standing, he asked, "Can I go now? I have a dance to get ready for. And … can you _please _not say anything to Minerva about what I thought?"

"Oh Harry," Albus laughed, shoulders shaking and eyes twinkling, "How could I not?"

-000-

This Yule Ball was going much better than the last, Harry thought. He'd arrived at the dance with the most beautiful witch in the school on his arm. He'd eaten a wonderful feast of some type of meat and a vegetable or two (he hadn't paid that much attention – how could he with Ginny dressed like that). And now he was twirling said beauty queen around the dance floor, oblivious to everyone else as he gazed into her eyes.

They made a striking couple; he in his steel grey dress robes and she in a deep blue number that fit so snuggly it looked more like a Muggle evening gown than a dress robe. Her plunging neckline accented the pearl necklace he'd given her a year ago. It was also the reason he refused to let her dance with anyone else. That was his …neckline.

Normally, such blatant possessiveness would have earned him a Bat Bogey Hex but tonight Ginny reveled in the attention knowing there were as many drooling witches wanting to dance with Harry as there were guys wanting to see her.

As the music changed to a faster tempo the couple left the dance floor and sought out their friends near the refreshment table. "You looked at bit more comfortable out there this time," Hermione observed.

"Lessons," he mouthed back, but he refused to give any details as to with whom or when.

Harry took a moment to look around the room, smiling as he watched Seamus gyrating to the music with an equally energetic Mandy Brocklehurst. Feeling that he was being watched, he looked toward the ice sculpture to find Minerva McGonagall watching him like a hawk – or was that like a cat that had spotted a slow, fat mouse?

Pivoting his body so his back was to the professor, Harry joined in the conversation his friends were having. The group – Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, Neville and Hannah, and a single Dean – alternately discussed the food, surprise couples, and outrageous outfits ("Can you believe Pansy is wearing that? You can practically see her bum!") until the music once again slowed.

"My turn," Hermione announced, grabbing Harry's hand in hers as she shot Ginny a look.

Ginny nodded her permission and Harry found himself pulled onto the dance floor and with his arms around Hermione before he could even register a complaint. As he started to turn Hermione around he caught a glimpse of Ginny accepting Neville's hand.

"Mmm, this is nice," Hermione said to break the silence. "Too bad you didn't think to include Ron in those lessons." At Harry's questioning look she explained, "oh, he's not that bad – not stomping on my feet or anything like that. He's just a bit too enthusiastic. I almost feel like I'm being pulled around instead of dancing."

"But otherwise how's the dream date?" Harry teased.

"Just fine," she replied with a dreamy smile, and Harry hoped he hadn't looked that goofy when he'd been dancing with Ginny.

When the song ended Harry began to lead Hermione back to Ron when he accidentally bumped into Luna.

"I'd love to dance with you, Harry," she said, holding her arms out in their proper position. "But please do steer clear of the mistletoe."

"Er … right," he agreed, taking her into his arms. Hermione, he noted, was laughing as she walked away. "Nargles, right?"

"Oh yes," Luna continued, moving closer to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder as they danced. "I'm so glad you remembered. I fear the Headmaster might have quite the infestation to have kissed Professor McGonagall like that. You don't suppose they'll marry now, do you?"

"No," he quickly replied, looking down to the head of hair on his shoulder, "I don't see them getting married any time soon."

"This is nice, isn't it Harry?"

Assuming she meant the dancing, he agreed.

"It's so nice to have a night were we can forget our fears and enjoy ourselves," Luna explained. "Not that you fear He Who Must Not Be Named all that much, do you? It took me a while to figure out why but when I did it made perfect sense."

He could only gawk at the head on his shoulder. "What makes sense?"

"That you're not afraid of You Know Who anymore. I suppose it's hard to be afraid of someone once you've seen them naked."

"Wh-what?" he sputtered, pulling his body away from hers in surprise. He was quite certain he'd remember seeing _that_.

She looked up to him with an air of motherly patience. "The night he was reborn. You said that he rose from the cauldron and asked for a robe. So he must have been naked when he stood and being tied to the gravestone as you were, you would have had a perfect view. I remember one time," she barreled on, not noticing that Harry had just stopped breathing, "my Uncle Zender forgot to lock the door and I walked in on him climbing out of the shower. I'd always been a bit afraid of him, but after that I wasn't. Every time he'd start to yell at me that image of him naked would pop into my mind and I'd start to laugh. Naked bodies are rather funny to look at, don't you think? All those odd parts hanging about."

"Er … I-I-I … excuse me, um, please," he finally managed to spit out, dropping his hands away from Luna as if she was on fire and backing away. Unfortunately, in his panic he hadn't paid attention to his surroundings and he bumped right into whomever was standing behind him.

"Just who I was looking for," purred Professor McGonagall. "I was hoping the Head Boy could spare a dance for his Head of House."

Turning around on auto-pilot – for his brain was fighting itself, one second pulling up the image of Voldemort's rebirth and the next forcefully shoving it from his consciousness before it reached the moment of truth – he could only nod mutely as she took his hand and took command of the dance.

"Is there something wrong, Mister Potter," she asked as she continued to lead them around the floor. "You seem preoccupied."

Looking up to her, his mind finally caught up to his body and he skipped a step to take the lead. He cleared his throat and assured her he was fine. He couldn't, however, shake the feeling that he'd just left the frying pan for the fire.

Ignoring the amused looks his fellow students were giving him he waltzed around the floor with his teacher, exchanging pleasantries about the quality of the food and how well the orchestra played this particular song. At one point, Minerva's hand left his waist to pick at something on his shoulder. "Cat hair," she explained. "Looks like one of Mrs. Norris'." At that point he tripped over his own foot, earning a hoot of laughter from somewhere to his right and a concerned look from his dance partner.

He was so worried that Minerva might say something about his really terrible mistake that he didn't pay much attention to where he was going – in fact, without noticing, he'd allowed Minerva to once again take the lead.

It was as the music came to a stop and his body did the same that he noticed the entire hall had grown silent. Focusing on his dance partner's face, he noticed she sported a grin much too reminiscent of Fred and George. He tipped his head back and looked up … and groaned when he spotting the green leaves and white berries of Satan's favorite plant.

"I believe you know what's expected, Mister Potter," she softly said.

Nervously, for he knew every eye in the hall was on him, he leaned close and closed his eyes as he lightly pecked her cheek. Amid the hoots and cat calls from everyone around she thanked him for the dance then leaned close and whispered, "meow."

Studiously ignoring his classmates he allowed Ginny to led him to a bench outside where he dropped onto the seat and buried his face in his hands. Sighing deeply as someone rubbed gentle circles on his back, he finally opened his eyes. Instead of the enchanted rose garden of years past, he found himself seated under a tent in a desert oasis, complete with leafy palm trees, watering hole, and live camels. The stone pathways of the courtyard were still there but now they led the way through a sandy expanse. The moon was too overcast to give much light but randomly placed oil torches cast shadows in every direction, adding to the romance of the area.

It didn't take long for Ron and Hermione to find them. Hermione looked sympathetic but as soon as Harry made eye contact with Ron his not-best friend burst into deep, gut-wrenching laughter that drew the attention of even the most involved couples.

"Come out here just to do that?" Harry indignantly asked.

"Nah, I was just wondering," Ron asked with an almost straight face, "should Ginny be worried that you've decided to go with experience over looks?"

"Funny," Harry replied without any humor in his voice.

"Or are you planning on working your way through the staff … 'cause I don't think Snape would be interested."

Harry gave Ron his best death glare.

"I got it … you've decided to get that Outstanding on your Transfiguration NEWT no matter what the cost."

"Got that all out of your system?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Ron too cheerfully replied.

"Wanker."

"Tosser."

"Boys," two voices groaned at the same time.

"If you don't mind my saying so," Hermione began, trying to move past whatever it was the boys were doing, "you seemed a bit distracted before you … er … danced with Professor McGonagall. Did anything happen?"

"What?" Harry asked as he turned away from the arm punching war he and Ron were having. "Oh …no. Luna just said something. You know how she is."

Hermione did, in fact, know how Luna was and (as Harry had hoped) she incorrectly assumed Luna's comment had to do with strange creatures. Somehow this led to the four friends debating the likelihood of Luna's various creatures actually existing.

Ron was describing what he thought the Crumple-Horned Snorkack must look like ("… as tall as a man with white wooly fuzz and a long goose neck and two legs and webbed feet and short arm-like-things that can't really reach anything and just sorta wave around…") when Hannah Abbot walked up.

"Have any of you seen Neville lately? He went for a tinkle after he danced with Ginny, and now I can't find him."

The four shared looks before shaking their heads and saying no. "But we can help you look," Hermione added.

The three girls headed off to look around the oasis while Harry and Ron went to check out the nearby restrooms and the dance floor. Twenty minutes later the five met back up at the refreshment table, all Neville-less.

"This is stupid," Ron announced as he searched the dancing faces passing by, "he's got to be here somewhere."

"Was he maybe not feeling well," Ginny asked Hannah, seeing that the girl was getting anxious. "Or he can be so clumsy sometimes – maybe he spilled something on himself and went to change?"

"No," Hannah insisted, "he was coming right back. He wouldn't have just disappeared like that; he would have let me know what he was doing."

Trying not to appear worried Harry caught Susan Bones' eye and motioned her over. When she and her date arrived he asked them to sit with Hannah, explaining, "the girls are going to run up to the tower just in case he did go up there and Ron and I'll take a look around the corridors."

Once outside the Great Hall he turned to the girls. "Stay together, right? I didn't want to worry Hannah but I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Right," Hermione agreed and Ginny added, "and you two check in with us every half hour, else we'll think you've disappeared too."

As the girls climbed to the tower Harry and Ron set off looking into empty rooms, behind hanging tapestries, inside broom cupboards, and even under the staircase that lead to nowhere. There was no sign of him, although they did find four hidden couples and one threesome involving Millicent Bulstrode that left Harry wanting to dunk his head in a toilet to flush out the image.

"Nothing here," Harry sighed as they finished checking Filch's office. "Up or down, do ya reckon?"

"First we check in with the girls then we go up. Neville doesn't know where the kitchens are and if someone's done something to him, down would be kinda obvious, I'd think."

It was as they were headed back to the Great Hall that Harry thought of one last place to check. "We missed the extra Divination classroom. Let's pop in on our way back." Opening the door to Firenze's forest-like classroom, they both lit their wands and stepped in. "Look – there," Harry shouted as he pointed to what looked like a lumpy sleeping bag. With Ron at his side, he knelt down and pulled back the cover to reveal the pale face of Neville. "Nev, wake up," he and Ron both shouted, but there was no response.

Fearing the worst, Harry dropped his wand as he felt for a pulse. What he found was so slow and weak he half expected it to stop at any moment, except it stayed steady. Desperate, he tried the few waking spells he'd picked up during stays in the Hospital Wing, and even resorted to spurting water in Neville's face, but nothing got so much as a flicker.

"We need help Ron. You stay here and watch him; I'm going to get Seba."

When he returned with three adults it was to find Ron on his knees telling knock-knock jokes in an inspired but doomed attempt to rouse the boy.

"Stand aside, foolish boy," Snape barked, and Ron nearly stumbled over in shock at the unexpected voice.

"Thank you, Severus," Albus coolly said before turning his attention to the two on the ground. "If you would be so kind, Ronald," he added in a much kinder voice as he swept his arm sideways in invitation.

Not needing to be told twice, Ron jumped up and joined Harry in hovering off to the side while the nurse and professor moved down to examine Neville. As Poppy began waving her wand over his torso and tutting to herself Snape bent over, almost close enough to touch his nose to Neville's cheek, and sniffed. Without explaining himself, he straightened and pulled one of Neville's eyelids up, revealing an eye that no longer looked human. It had taken on the same odd shape and vivid color as a certain dark lord's.

"You can stop looking, Poppy," he told the witch. Turning to Albus he added, "definitely Endless Slumber. Aside from the telling eye color I detected the distinct smell of fried fish on his facial skin. We should quietly move him somewhere safe so I can administer the antidote and then you can decide what to do with him."

"Do with him," Ron questioned. "Why would you do anything with him? Once he's cured he should be free to go."

"Think, Weasley," Snape crisply began, but Harry rushed to explain –

"Voldemort can't know we have an antidote, Ron. We can wake Neville but he's going to have to be hidden for the time being. Hopefully, it won't be too long."

"That doesn't seem fair," Ron argued, "and I don't think he's going to like it one bit."

"And I don't like being Voldemort's number one target year after year, but I live with it, and he will too," Harry snapped back. "There's more at stake here than Neville being able to go to class. If Voldemort knows we have an antidote he might use something different and unknown on me … or he might just decide to hell with it and kill me outright. Not to mention, he'd figure out pretty quickly how we got the antidote, effectively moving Snape up to target number two."

"But Neville – "

"We'll give him a choice, Ron. No one's saying we force him to do anything." Harry paused to turn to Albus – and Ron did the same – and Albus nodded his agreement. "But I know Neville. When he knows what's at stake he'll agree to stay hidden."

"Perhaps, Mister Weasley, you might want to excuse yourself while the adults handle the situation," Snape suggested in the kindest voice he could manage when speaking to a student, which still sounded more like an order than a suggestion.

Albus added, "I would much appreciate if you could ask Professor McGonagall to gather his closest friends and wait for me in her office."

Ron knew better than to argue any more and agreed to run the errand. "Coming, Harry?"

"Nah, I think I'll help them move Neville."

Ron noticed that neither Albus nor Snape disagreed with Harry's suggestion so he left with a quiet goodbye.

"I'll go ahead and get the private room ready," Poppy offered as she followed Ron out the door.

Harry and Albus carefully moved Neville up to the Infirmary while Snape went to retrieve the antidote. In no time at all Harry was watching from the side as Poppy forced a strange looking tube almost as long as his arm down Neville's throat. Harry thought it was a good thing that Neville was dead to the world for that couldn't have been very comfortable. Once the tube was in place Snape stepped forward and poured a thick honey-like potion down the exposed end.

It felt like it was taking forever. The sticky antidote didn't want to flow so Poppy had to keep using a spell to move it along. Soon the room was filled with the strong smell of vinegar as more and more of the potion was forced from a large glass jar into Neville.

When the jar was nearly empty a worried Albus asked, "How much more do you think, Severus?"

Then came something Harry had never thought he'd live to hear. Snape said, "I don't know. It should have been enough three times over."

Snape was uncertain; not uncertain if it would be best to assign three feet or four, but uncertain that something – his own creation, no less – would work at all. The idea that Snape was flappable was as unsettling as it was shocking.

Soon the entire jarful had been administer, yet Neville remained as lifeless and unresponsive as he'd been when they'd first found him.

Finally, Harry stated the obvious, "So … it doesn't work." This was troubling on so many levels … yes, Harry was worried about his friend; but he was also worried about himself. After all, the potion was ultimately meant for him.

Looking at the empty jar, Snape simply replied, "it should."

If possible, his response made Harry even more uncomfortable.

"Severus?" Albus questioned.

"It should have worked," he said more forcefully. "Longbottom should be bouncing around this room like that demented house elf does whenever Potter thanks it," he shouted.

Involuntarily, every eye in the room was drawn back to the slumbering Gryffindor.

"Well," Albus finally said, "I have a group of students awaiting my arrival in Minerva's office. Not quite the happy news I had expected to be sharing."

He left, leaving an unconscious Neville, a still-in-shock Snape and a nervous Harry behind.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** As Harry started to explain to Hermione, neither Minerva nor Flitwick could stop the holly because they were using the wrong types of spells. They needed to counter his potion. Snape no doubt figured it out and could have fixed it in a jiffy, but does he seem like the helpful type to you?

I don't normally pimp other stories, but as I was typing Albus and Harry's little talk, I kept remembering 'Earwax' by RedandBlackBeads, which is the best 'Harry gets the talk' story I've ever found – and I've found lots of very good ones, so that's saying something. If you haven't read it, you MUST. Be prepared to laugh hysterically and possible wet yourself.


	34. How Voldemort Stole Christmas

"I'll take Single Word Answers for $400, Alex."

"No."

_{bweep}_

"Does Rachelme177 own Harry Potter?"

"Correct; although we also would have accepted 'do woodchucks really chuck wood' or 'Joey, have you ever been in a Turkish prison'."

.

.

**Chapter 34. How Voldemort Stole Christmas **

Harry turned his eyes from Neville, who looked almost peaceful in his forced slumber, to Snape, who looked close to hyperventilating or (Merlin forbid) being forced to award 100 points to Gryffindor. Harry could tell without even using Legilimency that Snape hadn't even considered his creation might not work. Now he was practically in shock, mumbling things to himself that Harry couldn't make out and alternately nodding or shaking his head as if he was having a very good argument with himself.

He must have won his argument; one second Snape was lost in thought and the next he was practically sprinting from the room. "Perhaps reptile urine," Harry barely heard as Snape breezed past.

Harry was left uncomfortably alone with Neville. What he really wanted to do was find Ginny and hold her tight but he felt a duty to stay with his fallen friend, so he stayed. "It's a pointless vigil, Mister Potter," Pomfrey told him when she came to check that Neville's condition hadn't changed. Harry nearly pointed out that her check-up was equally pointless given the nature of the Endless Slumber potion but in the interest of peace he settled for shrugging.

Pomfrey did her scans and fluffed Neville's pillow and then was gone, leaving Harry alone to stare at Neville as he considered his own possible future if Snape failed to get the antidote to work.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by the wailing of Neville's grandmother as she burst into the room. Somehow, she managed to appear dignified even as she threw herself onto her grandson's bedside.

"Oh Neville … my Neville … you can't do this to me … _oh Neville_ …"

Not wanting to witness any more, Harry escaped the room only to find a tired-looking Albus waiting for him. "Care to keep me company, Harry? I have several friends investigating various aspects for me and quite honestly I could use the distraction as I await their replies."

"But my friends …" Harry trailed off, not sure if he wanted to find them or send them his excuses.

"Not to worry. I have already let them know you would be safe in my care as I sent them to their Common Rooms for some much needed rest. By now, house elves have delivered steaming mugs of hot cocoa and our Dobby is most certainly diligently watching your Ginny as she snuggles into her bed. From a hidden location, of course."

Harry accompanied Albus to his office and the two killed the time by playing such a distracted game of wizard's chess that a black knight and two opposing pawns grew bored and engaged in sword play while the white king and queen waltzed around the upper corner of the board.

Minerva had arrived at some point but instead of interrupting the game she'd fallen into a nearby chair and accepted a glass of something red and crackling as she let her head fall back and closed her eyes. If it weren't for the glass occasionally being lifted to her lips Harry would have thought she'd fallen asleep.

Kingsley's arrival just before dawn brought Minerva out of her stupor and took Albus away from their game. But Harry, who didn't want to go back to the tower yet didn't have anything to add to their conversation, began to randomly push pieces around the chess board – "unhand me, you scurvy dog, I'm not even your piece!" – as he half-listened to the others discuss things that, quite frankly, Harry felt were irrelevant. … Why was Neville targeted? - _'Did the forget his part at the Ministry?'_ … Why wasn't there a witness? - _'maybe they were careful to not be seen?'_ … Why did the potion leave the odor of fried fish? - _'really? that's what Minerva wanted to know?'_ ...

A disgruntled bishop, fed up with Harry pushing him onto the wrong colored squares, swung his mace and whacked Harry on the tip of his pinky. Granted, it hurt his pride far more then his finger, but Harry got the message. Sucking on his injured digit he looked up to find Albus and Minerva looking at him expectantly.

"We were wondering if you'd noticed anyone acting in an unusual or out-of-character manner, Harry," Minerva asked for probably the second time. "Miss Granger mentioned Miss Lovegood may have said something to upset you."

It was a testament to the events of the night that Harry was (almost) completely able to push aside his embarrassment and (nearly) look her directly in the eye as he answered. "No, that was just Luna being Luna. Honestly, I'd have found it out of character if she hadn't said anything outrageous. I'm sorry, but nothing sticks out … other than being surprised by some girls' choices in dates."

Kingsley's belly-shaking laughter filled the room. "I think even the Department of Mysteries isn't brave enough to tackle the mysterious love lives of teenage girls, Harry."

Albus agreed before turning serious again. "What of the portraits … the ghosts? Were you able to uncover anything more than what I'd already ascertained, Minerva?"

"Unfortunately, very few portraits were in their proper places this evening," she said in a way that clearly conveyed her displeasure in portraits shirking their duty. "Nedry the Nearly Brave was in his proper place and should have seen something, but you know how he is. Between his horrible eyesight and even worse hearing the best I could get from him was something about a three armed monkey and a little girl talking about baking pots."

"Baking pots?" Harry couldn't help but ask. "As in things you bake with?"

"Yes, baking pots. He was quite adamant that's what the monkey and the girl were discussing just before they hugged and then disappeared into thin air. You must understand, Harry, that poor Nedry lost his hearing well before losing his life. Legend says he mistook the head of a roaring dragon for a harmless barking dog."

"I think," Albus said, "it would be helpful if we could determine what actually Nedry saw and heard."

"I'd be willing to bet 'pots' was actually 'Potter'," Kingsley offered.

"Yes, likely so," Albus agreed. "And instead of a deformed primate I find it far more likely he caught sight of two people standing very close together – their arms tangled, perhaps – one of which was, to be kind, not the most handsome of fellows."

"Maybe someone with their arms around Neville," Harry reasoned, "maybe dragging him into the room. That could be the disappearing into thin air part; they really just entered a room."

"And the little girl might not be a girl at all," Minerva added. "It could just mean a smaller person in brightly colored robes. Some feel such colors should only be worn by women, you know." She slyly glanced toward Albus as she said this.

"Just so," Albus agreed (but to which part, Harry couldn't say). "So it appears that two people wrestled Mister Longbottom into the classroom where presumably he was forced to breath in the potion."

"Still doesn't tell us who," Kingsley pointed out.

"My gold's on Nott," Harry was quick to add.

"I am certain the Misters Weasley would agree and therefore refuse your wager," Albus told him. "The law, however, requires a bit more fact in these matters."

"Now they do," Harry muttered, earning him a nod of agreement from Minerva.

Pretending he hadn't been interrupted, Albus continued, "Do we know if Mister Nott or any of his acquaintances have time unaccounted for?"

"It was a night of celebration, Albus," Minerva admonished, clearly thinking she shouldn't have to remind Albus of this. "Boisterous, mischievous, and might I add hormonal, teenagers are notoriously hard to keep track of at the calmest of times – and don't you go repeating that to your friends, Mister Potter. I can neither confirm nor disprove that Theodore Nott was not in the Great Hall at the time of the attack. I'm afraid we'll find that to be the case for a good many of the students."

"So the portraits and the ghosts were our only hope and since they can't tell us anything, we're stuck," Harry lamented. "I don't suppose a little Veritaserum could find it's way into the morning tea?"

"Not to say that isn't a good idea, Harry," Kingsley grinned. "I happen to agree with you. If Nott's not one of You Know Who's followers I'm a sphinx. But he's a smart boy. He's already weaseled his way out of trouble once. What I wouldn't give for five minutes alone with that boy. I'm sure I could get something out of him."

"I assure you, Kingsley," Albus sighed, "no one wants to get a confession from that boy more than I; but we must do things the right way, not the easy way, lest he be pardoned on a technicality. Be assured, from this moment forward I will be keeping a much closer eye on Mister Nott." He reached for his cup and downed the potent dark coffee – his fourth cup of the morning, if he'd been bothering to count – with an undignified gulp.

The others respectfully ignored the uncharacteristic breach of etiquette. None had slept since the discovery of the comatose Neville Longbottom the night before. The silence was soon broken as the office door was thrown open and Snape stormed into the room.

"Ah Severus," Albus greeted, "impeccable timing as always. We've just finished discussing all things Theodore Nott-related. I take it by the smile on your face that you've found something?"

Harry perked up upon hearing this and turned to see this fabled smile; but to him, it looked more like Snape's normal class-room sneer, albeit a happy one.

Oblivious to Harry's disappointment, Snape replied, "In a manner of speaking, Headmaster. As I reviewed all of my notes this morning, I recalled what I thought at the time to be a simple oddity from an unstable mind. You may recall, the Dark Lord had indicated that he wanted to add something to the potion upon its delivery. However, when he returned the potion to me for sealing, I could find no noticeable change – the color, smell, and consistency were exactly the same as when first presented to him. I concluded he'd mislead me regarding an addition; that he was perhaps simply testing me.

"However, in light of last evening's failure I have spent several hours attempting to discern his true actions and I have come across a solution that, as ridiculous as it may seem, appears to be the answer. Tear drops, when added to most non-water based potions, are the only ingredient I can find that would have no discernible effect on the potion. As absurd as it seems, I believe he cried into the vials.

Kingsley scoffed at the idea. "You expect us to believe he cried? That's he's even capable of such a human emotion?"

"I certainly would never have believed him capable," Snape conceded. "Aside from his lack of any remorse or sorrow, I honestly believed he lacked tear ducts in his present form."

"You're wrong about him not feeling sorrow, Professor," Harry hesitated to say. "When Nagini died he was sad."

"Yes, well, dead snakes aside … I believe he somehow managed to add his own tears to each vial. After researching how the potion failed to react to the antidote as well as what I know of the magical properties of human emotional tears, I am confident I understand their purpose. They tie the potion to him – he truly is its Master. Anyone who inhales the potion cannot be awakened as long as the Dark Lord is alive."

Turning to look directly at Harry, he added, "It is a perfect plan. The Dark Lord believes you are the only one capable of defeating him. He gives you the potion. You cannot be reawakened unless he dies; but he cannot die as long as you are asleep. I certainly hope that legendary dumb luck of yours does not fail you now or we are all doomed."

Harry could only squirm in response.

Looking back to Albus, Snape continued, "Our only saving grace is that the antidote will work if the connection is broken. That is to say, if Potter should succeed in dispatching the Dark Lord we can revive Longbottom and any other victims."

The others shared glances as they each considered what Snape had said. Harry half expected Kingsley to have some serious questions, for as far as he knew the Order wasn't aware of the exact wording of the prophecy. But Kingsley let it pass, almost as if he wasn't surprised at all.

Eyes falling onto the sleeping Fawkes got Harry thinking. "But what about phoenix tears … could they be used somehow?"

"Unfortunately, no. I already tested adding them to both the potion and it's antidote at several key stages."

"So," Kingsley's deep voice sounded very tired as he stood from his seat, "Voldemort's potion works as advertised, our antidote will only work if he is killed, and it's only a matter of time before the press finds out that yet another student has been attacked at Hogwarts. Does that about sum it all up?"

"Maybe not," Harry ventured. "This is a magical school and, as Professor Snape loves to point out, we dunderheads could make a mess out of a simple 'Lumos'. So why would anyone assume Neville's condition is the result of an attack? Right now, all anyone knows is that he was found unconscious. That's what you told our friends, right?"

"True," Albus agreed, "I never gave any specifics, although I cannot be assured what was discussed before my arrival. It is possible one of your friends mentioned the potion."

"That's just gossip," Harry waved off. "The only words that ultimately matter will be those from you and Mrs. Longbottom. Sure, the students will believe whatever they want, but that'll happen regardless. But as far as the adults … the parents and the Ministry is concerned … an illness or a simple accident is far more likely. I'm certain Neville's grandmother would go along with our story if you explain things to her. She's very anti-Voldemort. If the two of you only refer to it as a mysterious illness then there's no proof of any attack. And besides," he reasoned, "if Professor Snape was truly loyal to Voldemort we wouldn't know about the potion, so we couldn't be sure it was an attack anyway."

"Because Longbottom is known for his potions experimentation," Snape sneered.

"Granted, it's fishy … and to the reasonably intelligent and the paranoid it appears to be an attack. But there is no proof."

"Boy's got a point," Kingsley agreed, "by Voldemort's estimate we should be sitting around scratching our heads as we try to figure out what's wrong."

"When put in that light, I'm certain Augusta will agree with that story," Minerva added. "She is an intelligent woman. As long as nothing we suggest would put the boy in additional danger, of course."

That decided, the group broke up: Kingsley to update the Minister, Albus and Minerva to find Augusta Longbottom, Snape to do whatever it was he did with his free time, and Harry to find his friends. He knew Ginny was safe – Dobby was nothing if not dedicated – but he'd like the reassurance of seeing them for himself. For the one thing that hadn't been discussed this morning was perhaps the one thing that worried him most; Voldemort had an agent inside the school. _'Again.'_

With that in mind, he pulled out his invisibility cloak and cautiously made his way back to relative comfort of Gryffindor Tower.

-000-

The train ride to London was short. Not short time-wise – that took its usual better part of a day; no, this was short on conversation, short on laughs, and short on wakefulness. Many of the students had stayed awake the majority of the night before, first with the magnificent dance (or party, depending on age) and then reliving great moments or maybe creating more intimate memories to go with the first. So when Harry placed his head in Ginny's lap and instantly dozed none of their many streaming visitors questioned why. And certainly, no one connected Harry's tiredness to Neville's sudden and mysterious illness.

Of course, that hadn't been announced to the whole school. Instead, McGonagall had called a rare House meeting and stoically told everyone Neville Longbottom was in a petrified-like state due to a suspected love potion brewed wrong. But the effect had been the same; between chattering students and gossiping portraits and the occasional nosy ghosts, word of Neville's mishap had spread throughout the school in near record time. Harry suspected only word of his parseltongue ability had spread faster.

... It explained why Neville and Hannah got back together … it was that mousy Ravenclaw girl that wanted Neville for his money … it was a jealous Susan Bones that wanted Neville for herself … or wanted Hannah for herself … it wasn't a potion at all but a dark curse from an unnamed _someone dark_ …

The theories were as many as they were varied. That last one in particular picked up steam as many of the ruder and mouthier students questioned why anyone would use a love potion on Neville in the first place.

And was it Harry's sleep-deprived imagination that most of the older Slytherins looked entirely too pleased and smug and cruel as they whispered about "Longbottom" and "success" and "next"?

Harry forced himself to stop trying to hear every voice in the corridor as he let the swaying of the train lull him back to sleep. Thankfully, Ginny woke him just before they pulled into the station so he was fully alert and on guard as they made their way to the parked black car Arthur Weasley had borrowed for the day.

The final stretch of the journey was as dull and boring as the overcast sky outside their enchanted car and Harry nearly sighed in relief when they finally arrived in front of the house on Grimmauld Place. It was strange, but of late he'd actually been looking forward to spending some time there. Probably because it was a chance to get away from the depressing news and happenings at Hogwarts and focus on the positive, as Molly kept insisting they do in her letters.

As Harry helped Ginny climb from the car he glanced over and saw the happy face of Charlie Weasley watching from a window. Charlie noticed him looking and waved excitedly, like a child greeting a favored relative, then turned to say something to the person behind him. Moments later, Molly herself appeared at his side and she smiled brightly as she moved away, no doubt to meet them at the door.

She was ready to pounce when they entered the house.

"Oh, how you've all grown," she gushed as she pulled the nearest teen – Hermione – into a great hug. Still clutching Hermione close, she somehow managed to reach out and nab Ron. But Ron must have been determined not to go down by himself, for he swung his arm out, grasped Ginny, and pulled her with him into the hug-fest.

Ginny looked pleadingly at Harry but he minutely shook his head as he took a few quick steps backward. He narrowly avoided Arthur but managed to trip over the troll leg umbrella stand and fall on his bum. _'Thought I threw that out.'_

Loud snorting at the doorway caught everyone's attention and Harry looked up to find Percy and Bill watching. Percy tried to look bored but the corners of his mouth were twitching, giving away his struggle to not laugh. Bill, however, was practically shaking in his laughter, which woke the little bundle cradled in his arms.

At the first coo, Ginny and Hermione simultaneously "aww"-ed and Ginny wrenched herself free from Molly's firm grip to snatch her niece away from her brother.

"Don't get use to it," Bill called out to Harry, using his head to indicate Ginny, "you've both got lots of years before Potter sprogs should start appearing."

"Oh, they just appear do they?" Harry innocently asked. "So all that stuff about potions and spells and body parts … that's just to scare us kids?"

Not taking the bait, Bill chuckled as he said, "I would think six older brothers was quite enough to scare you." As Molly's cluster broke up, he moved closer – but kept a watchful eye on his young daughter, Harry noticed – so they could converse without shouting over everyone else's heads. "Bit surprised to see you here. I thought you'd spend the holiday with Albus and his brother."

"I thought they could use some time for just the two of them. They're working on rebuilding their relationship and they don't need me under foot for that. I'll go back for a couple of days at Christmas but most of my time will be spent here."

"Well, glad to have you," Bill assured him with a manly pat on the shoulder.

Before he could say much else, Molly started shooing the teens toward the stairs. "It's been a long trip – you kids get yourselves freshened up for dinner. I'll take Josette, Ginny dear … you just get yourself upstairs with the others." Grandma bear that she was, the baby was safely tucked in the crook of her arm long before the sentence was finished.

As the others climbed away Harry covertly gave Molly a quick hug as he passed by, earning him a glowing smile from her and a faint snicker from an unidentified Weasley. Once in his room he decided to jump in the shower, hoping the hot water would help him stay awake. Then he quickly dressed in some comfy muggle cloths and heading back downstairs.

Near the top of the staircase he nearly collided with a little table that he didn't think used to be there. It was a small thing, just big enough to hold a small vase full of strange-looking orange and pink flowers and an oval picture frame containing a picture of a laughing and occasionally cuddling Molly and Arthur.

That's what this place needed, he realized. Those simple touches … the little things that had made the Burrow so much more inviting than this place. Walking the length of the hall he took note of other changes: the dark, wet painting of a shipwreck had been replaced with a sunny meadow full of butterflies; the ratty brown drapes that used to hide the hall window were now bright green with big ruffles, and held back to let the natural light in; the snapping door handle on the storage cupboard was now a plain gold knob.

At the top of the stairs, as he took in the collection of teapots that had replaced the severed elf heads, he realized just how much the place had changed. It wasn't that it was all bright and cheerful, for there was still plenty left to update, but it had lost its sinister feel. Sure, it was still a bit dark (three coats of paint, and the landing still felt like a cave), and there were fixtures shaped like striking snakes and vicious talons yet to be removed, and the neighborhood left something to be desired, and yes, there was a strange smell of decay coming from that unused room on the second floor, but compared to its earlier appearance it was practically a palace.

Now he could see the potential. It had a sensible floor plan with plenty of bathrooms throughout, and the bedrooms were comfortably sized, and even the attic had potential, with its charming windows and open design. Some day, this would be grand house. Maybe he would keep it after all.

He almost snorted at the thought. The characters in his paperback books often owned town houses in London for when they had business to attend, or during The Season (if that even existed in the wizarding society – he'd have to look into that). They would stay in town when needed, and then travel back to their country estates. That was usually how they met the damsels – she'd be stranded at the inn with no money … or she'd run in front of his horse on a lonely road … no his carriage, and—

"Oi, mate, you gonna go down those stairs or just stare at them all day?" Ron snapped at him from behind.

Dinner was a light affair, both in the food served and in the atmosphere. It was as if Molly was trying to personally make up for the horror of the attack on Neville. The Weasley men fell right in line by avoiding any depressing topics. Instead, they discussed silly things like the newest line of shoes ("even I know 'spring in your step' is best left a saying and not reality" Fred insisted) and potential Christmas gifts ("you can never go wrong with small and sparkly"). Harry assumed they were following a Weasley Rule – probably something about keeping Mum extra-happy around the holidays.

One voice was noticeably absent from the discussion. "Molly," Harry began, "where's Charlie? I thought I saw him earlier."

"He was feeling a bit nervous seeing so many new faces, so I sent him to bed. We'll do introductions in the morning. Now, who wants cream for their pie?"

As the pies were finished and the dished begun the extended family stayed in the warm kitchen but separated into groups. Arthur and Bill debated when and how to bring Great Auntie Muriel over for Christmas dinner. Fred and Ron were trying to convince Hermione that the mythical Pegasus was actually an albino thestral spotted by several unfortunate squibs while an amused Ginny argued both sides. Instead of joining in, Harry offered to help Molly clean up but was gently shoved back into his chair where he sat back with his mug of tea and watched.

After a spell George arrived and he and Fred instantly began to talk inventory. Apparently, Wheezes made popular Christmas gifts. Deciding they needed quiet, the two excused themselves from the room.

As he passed by Harry, George whispered, "We're set to finalize with our landlord tomorrow morning. Think you can get away?"

"Yeah, just let me know when," he assured his soon-to-be partner.

George nodded and left the room, passing Bill on his way back from putting Josette down for the night.

"She good for the night?" Harry asked Bill by way of starting a conversation.

"Probably for about six hours," he replied as he settled into the chair across from Harry. "So, any big plans for break?"

"Yes, actually. I've been invited to the Ministry to help the Headmaster sift through contraband grabbed in a raid on Borgin & Burks."

"Let me guess … looking for a priceless Hogwarts relic?"

"Something like that," Harry chuckled. "Thanks for all your help, by the way. You probably don't know it but you helped us find the real locket."

"You don't say. That wouldn't have anything to do with that hideous locket that used to sit on a shelf in the other room but has recently disappeared, would it?"

Harry didn't answer verbally, he just tilted his head and gave him his best scowl.

"I know, I know. Don't ask. But someday …"

"Right, someday." Wanting to change the subject, Harry spied a damp spot of baby spit on Bill's shoulder and asked, "how're you handling being a single parent? I mean … how do you even know what to do?"

"It's like anything else, I imagine. You just do what you've gotta do. Like you fighting Voldemort."

Harry snorted as he replied, "Did you seriously just compare fighting a dark wizard with changing dirty nappies?"

"Have you ever changed a nappy? The kid's constantly squirming and kicking and don't let her sex fool you, she can shoot her pee in the air with the best of 'em. And then there's what's inside the nappy. I opened one yesterday that was all green and slimy – I've seen and smelled better things in decaying old tombs. Trust me, if you can handle a dirty nappy you can handle Voldemort."

The look on Harry's face clearly questioned Bill's logic.

"Erm … theoretically," Bill added.

"Great," Harry sarcastically enthused. "I'll keep that in mind next time I theoretically fight him and he theoretically kicks my behind across the theoretical country."

"Has anyone ever told you you're theoretically an arse?"

"Yeah, well, theoretically – "

"You theoretically don't want to finish that sentence, little man," Bill cut in, earning himself another amateurish glare.

Looking around, Harry found his friends were rather busy (it looked like the girls were ganging up on Ron over something). He leaned forward so he was much closer to Bill and quietly said, "Look, Bill … all joking aside … you don't really think he'll be that easy to defeat, do you?"

Bill didn't answer right away, but instead took some time to consider his words. Harry was glad Bill was taking his question seriously, though he did worry that Bill was maybe only trying to figure out how to tell Harry he didn't have a shot in hell.

"I don't think winning a battle is a question of hard or easy, Harry," he finally offered. "I think it's more a question of competence, isn't it? I mean, it's pretty easy to shout out a spell. But to win the battle, your spell has to be effective and it has to be timed right - too late and the battle could already be over. You see that all the time. Someone that knows the spells and can do the spells but freezes in the heat of battle. Do you realize how few people could have tossed a disarming spell at Voldemort and lived to tell the tale? And don't say," he hastened to add when Harry looked like he would interrupt, "it's because of the brother wands. That would have meant nothing if your spell hadn't been timed right. Too early, and Voldemort would have batted it away; too late and you would have been dead."

He paused to catch Harry's eye before adding, "You're one of the competent ones, Harry. You've got this incredible intuition in battle. Just go with that – when the time comes, go with what feels right. There's no doubt in my mind that the magic will work for you."

"Bedtime, kids," Molly's voice rang out.

In a low voice, Bill continued, "We believe in you, Harry. Stop worrying and just believe in yourself. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed as he stood and grabbed Ginny's outstretched hand. He looked over his shoulder and gave Bill a small smile as he allowed her to pull him from the room.

The next morning Harry returned from his short trip to Diagon Alley looking particularly pleased with himself but thankfully those that noticed assumed he'd managed to find that perfect Christmas gift he'd claimed to be searching for. Ginny knew better.

"All done, love?" she practically purred as she hugged him tight.

Pulling back, he whispered, "you're looking at the proud new owner of a decrepit old building in Diagon Alley. Turns out the shop was one section of a big building, so now I own a couple flats and the bakery next door, too."

"Good … let's toss 'em out on their ears," she smirked. Apparently, she remembered being attacked when they'd accidentally opened the secret passageway that connected the bakery to the joke shop.

"According to Goldsmith, they're already gone. When he told them he was selling the building they claimed breach of contract and demanded to be let out of their lease. They were probably looking for an excuse to leave."

A loud bark and even louder laughter was their only warning before they were plowed into by a much larger than they remembered Norbert the Dog, who slobbered all over both the teens before barreling on. Looking up, they found Charlie looking down on them with a huge grin on his face.

"Sorry 'bout that," he told them, "Norbert 'n I was playin', and he got away from me. I'm Charlie," he added, looking at Harry as he pointed to himself, "and Mummy told me who you are. You're Ginny's Harry."

"Yeah, that's him," Ginny laughed as she stood up, but then she sobered as she realized Harry didn't know how to respond. She understood; she'd felt the same way at breakfast when she'd been introduced to her older brother, who'd innocently proclaimed her 'pretty like a princess'.

Not knowing what to say, Harry could only stand there and stare. The man he was looking at was basically the same Charlie – just as tall and just as broad, same freckles and same goofy grin that immediately put a person at ease. The hair was perhaps a bit shorter than Charlie usually kept it, and something about his eyes was different … happier, maybe, or more innocent.

"You missed breakfast. It was the best," Charlie told Harry, breaking the silence that to him hadn't been awkward at all.

Before Harry could answer a motherly shriek of "_Ronald Weasley, what are you doing with that magazine!_" shook the entire house, causing trinkets to rattle and chandeliers to bounce.

"I'd best go check on that – you keep him busy," she said, pointing toward Charlie with her eyes before rushing toward Ron's bellowing voice.

"Oooh, Ronald's in real trouble now," Charlie explained as he watched Ginny leave. "It's not good when Mummy yells."

"Yeah, not good. So …," Harry stalled as he looked around the room for anything that might help him keep Charlie busy. Somehow, he didn't think wizard's chess would work. "What do you do around here for fun?"

"Sometimes I look at picture books and sometimes I color with finger paints – oh, but not on the wall 'cause that's bad – and once in a while I get to help Mummy when she's making sweets and lemon custards which is my favorite and before I came in here I was playing with Norbert."

"Is that why he was running away?" Harry teased.

"He wasn't runnin' away, I chased him away," Charlie explained quite proudly.

"Why were you chasing him away – was he bothering you?"

"Naw," Charlie answered with a wave of his hand. "We was playin'. Sometimes I like to pretend that Norbert is a great big dragon and he's be'in forced to attack the village by evil giants and I have ta fly in and save him. Do ya … do ya wanna play with me?"

"Well, won't it be hard to play if our dragon has run off?"

"No, silly! 'Cause we're wizards, so we just use our wands to find him again," Charlie explained. And to prove his point, he pulled out a wand. Not a real one, Harry was relieved to note. In fact, he thought it resembled a fancy chop stick in size and shape. It was bright red and had tiny gold dragons decorating it's length and Charlie was waving it in the air with all the finesse of a first-day First Year.

Swallowing thickly, Harry was strongly reminded of seeing Charlie pointing his wand fiercely at the dragons before the First Task. "Charlie," he chocked out. "I promise … I'm gonna get the bastard that did this to you."

"Did what?" he innocently asked. "You mean this haircut? 'Cause," and he leaned close to share a great secret, "I don't like it either. But Mummy said my hair was gettin' too long. And Mummies're always right about these things. Like yesterday … when she told me not to eat that candy from Freddie … but I ate it anyways, and … and … I turned into a _great big bird_. With feathers and everything!"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry couldn't help but smile. "I like that too, only I'm not allowed to eat them any more."

"Did your Mummy tell you that?"

"No … I don't have a Mum anymore," Harry hesitated to explain. "I lost her when I was very little."

"Oh, was it your Dad then?"

This time, he hardly hesitated before saying, "Yeah, it was my Dad."

"Yeah. They do that too sometimes. So, are we gonna play or not?"

Together, Harry and Charlie spent the rest of the morning tracking down the ferocious, roaring, tail-snapping brown dragon known at Norbert. It was dangerous work, Charlie explained, because instead of breathing fire, which any common dragon could do, Norbert was a special dragon who could tickle you with his tongue of death, leaving you covered in poisonous goo that stuck to your skin and smelled funny and made you itchy.

After that, Harry found himself fitting comfortably in with the family as Christmas continued to approach. In addition to playing dragons with Charlie and holding hushed talks with the twins, and even being forced to change Josette's diaper once, he spent time baking with Molly and wrapping gifts with Hermione's help. There were also secret meetings with Ginny in dark stairwells and closets – though those didn't happen often enough, in his opinion.

It was as they were clearing the table of lunch dishes on Christmas Eve that Arthur called everyone currently home into the family room. Standing majestically in the corner was a fat, crooked tree just waiting to be decorated.

"Now, all our decorations are locked up tight at the Burrow," Arthur explained, "but Kreacher brought down all he could find from the attic and I've picked up a few new things to help make it more like a traditional Weasley tree. So dig in and get to work, everyone."

Ginny, Hermione, and Charlie wasted no time in opening the boxes to inspect the decorations. "Harry 'n I'll get the mantel," Ginny offered as she pulled a fancy gold candelabra and several green candles from a box.

"You know those are Slytherin candles, not Christmas candles, right?" Harry asked under his breath.

With a curious look, she followed his pointed finger to see the little slithering snakes adorning the candles. "Not when I'm done with 'em," she countered. Shoving the candelabra at her boyfriend, she pulled her wand and quickly turned the snakes into dancing elves. "It should hold for a couple of days," she added.

"Hey," Ron shouted when Hermione thrust a box of glass bulbs into his hands. "How come I gotta do all this work but the twins don't?"

"Your brothers," Molly spoke up from the door, where she'd appeared unnoticed by all, "are still at their shop. Most of the Alley closes in about half an hour so I expect they'll be here soon. We'll save the garland and the holly for them - Charlie dear, don't squeeze the fairy lights, they don't like it. And Harry, is it alright if we hang some mistletoe in the entryway?"

Harry never noticed the twinkle in Molly's eye. He thought she didn't understand why he suddenly blushed as he mumbled yes. He missed the amused smile on Arthur's face. He barely picked out Ron's harshly whispered "here, kitty kitty" over Hermione's laughter. Had he looked up as Molly passed out mugs of warm spiced pumpkin juice he would have known his embarrassment wasn't as secret as he'd thought – but he didn't, do he didn't.

By the time George arrived the family room had been transformed. But into what, it was hard to say. Certainly, it was _Christmas-like_, what with the over abundance of green and red everywhere. But beyond that, it resembled a battlefield more than anything with torn packaging and clumps of greenery scattered around the floor. Rejected ornaments were being batted around and pounced on and occasionally broken by Crookshanks and Norbert. A particularly nasty twelve-foot-long foil cobra that might once have been used as garland was stretched across the floor, hissing in defeat.

Closest to the tree a dozen wooden nutcrackers had separated into two groups and were waging war. One group, the one's painted up like merry wizards, were tucked under the tree and appeared to be defending it from invasion. The second group, painted to resemble proud post owls of various colors and sizes, were hobbling around the perimeter, looking for weaknesses in their defense so they could deliver the brightly wrapped packages grasped in their carved wings.

Harry expected Arthur to be upset over the mini war but instead the man pulled his wand and started shouting orders to the wooden owls: "try to the left – the left … now knock him over … _yes!_ …"

Percy was trying valiantly to ignore his father and the nutcrackers as he directly brightly painted baubles shaped like animals onto the tree. He was getting frustrated because they seemed to leap back off as fast as he could put them on. If only he'd noticed the boomerang jinx Hermione had put on them.

Aside from Molly, who was probably busy in the kitchen, Bill was the only person not involved in the mayhem. At least, that's the way it appeared as he sat in a chair holding his little tike, but when Harry looked closer he noticed Bill's wand directing the stings of tinsel that were raining down on everyone.

"Where's Twin Two?" Bill asked the new arrival. When George turned to answer he got a face full of shiny tinsel.

"Nice … really nice, Bill," he choked out as he pulled a string from his nose. "Fred's turn to close up. He should be here in a few minutes. And Bill … _Sinters Klasen_." The effect was instantaneous; Bill's red hair turned white and a bushy beard sprouted from his chin, giving him a perfect Father Christmas appearance.

"Oh … do me, do me," Charlie cried, "make me look like Saint Nick, too," he begged, for it looked like great fun to him. Before long, and much to Charlie's delight, everyone in the room was sporting bushy white hair and beards.

Secretly, Harry thought Hermione's looked the most natural – almost Albus-like in it's frizzy length and style. Shaking that thought from his head, he looked pointedly away from her, his eyes finally resting on the clock. "Hey … where's Fred? It's been almost half an hour."

"Probably helping Verity count the till, if you get my meaning," George replied with a wolfish grin.

"Really? We should go get him, don't you think," Ron asked, sporting an ear-to-ear grin. "I've always wanted something to hold over his head."

"Well you can count me out," George responded, catching the phoenix shaped ornament that was trying to fly off the tree, "I've seen enough of the alley today. People are downright scary when they only have a few hours to finish their Christmas shopping."

Grasping the excuse to do away with his itchy beard, Harry jumped in. "I'll go with you Ron."

The two walked into the foyer to grab their coats and remove their facial hair only to hear George call out, "you can pop directly into the restroom in the back."

"What idiot wants you to Apparate into their loo?" Ron hissed.

"Twin idiots, apparently," Harry reasoned as they stepped out the front door.

They arrived, not to the silence of a closed shop, but to the roars and screams that Harry always associated with Death Eaters. Rushing toward the front of the shop they were greeted by the sharp smell of smoke. The front windows had been busted out and several displays were on fire.

"Shit," Ron spit out, but it barely registered in Harry's mind. He'd already pulled his wand … was already assessing the area for threats … enemies … survivors.

"Happy Christmas, Tom," he muttered under his breath as he stepped over a jumble of joke wands on the floor to rush toward the red-head he'd just spotted.

**** end chapter ****

**NOTES:** Now _that's_ a cliffhanger!

For all you non-parents - baby girls really can 'rain' on you, it just doesn't get as much height as little boys. Imagine my surprise the first time my darling baby girl did it to me. Definitely not something they warned me about in those parenting books.

Spell: Sinters Klasen (derived from Sinterklaas, the Dutch version of Santa Claus). Gives someone white hair and a bushy bear resembling Santa Claus.


	35. Yuletide Gatherings

For Christmas I wanted to own Harry Potter. Didn't happen; but my daughter got that ipod she's been begging for. Santa's got a lot of explaining to do.

.

.

**Chapter 35. Yuletide Gatherings **

Harry quickly scanned the wrecked and burning shop, hoping they hadn't arrived too late. He was greatly relieved to spot Fred, who was scurrying around trying to put out pockets of fire. It was a losing battle – one wand wasn't enough to combat the flaming balls that continued to fly through the windows.

Fred turned from his task just long enough to identify the arrivals. Spraying a tall shelf with water from his wand, he shouted to be heard, "Great timing. Verity's behind the counter – she's hurt."

Ron was closest to the counter so he turned back to check on the clerk while Harry rushed to Fred's side and got to work drenching a display of Patented Daydream Charms.

They seemed to have the fires at least contained when a viciously shouted curse from outside grabbed their attention. Harry looked out the nearest window to find black-cloaked figures intermingled with the dark blue of Auror's robes filling the alley. Worse, at least four Death Eaters seemed to be advancing on the shop. "We've got company," he called out.

"Damn! There's too many," Fred shouted. "We're about to be overrun – how's she looking, Ron?"

"Got a nasty cut down her arm," Ron yelled back, "And scared stiff but otherwise not bad. She's not going to be any help though, I can tell you that. Any chance we can get her out of here?"

Before either could answer, the sounds outside rose drastically in volume just before a trio of bodies came crashing through one of the broken-out windows, knocking Fred over as they rolled across the floor. Harry jumped out of the way as a jumble of black, blue and bright green robes nearly bowled him over.

The first person to untangle himself was thankfully dressed in Auror's robes; but the welcome nearly died when Harry recognized his face. It was Dawlish.

Giving Harry only a cursory glance, Dawlish sent a series of stunners toward the remaining jumble of bodies, knocking both the unnamed Auror and the Death Eater out cold. He missed Fred, probably because of the two bodies pressing him to the ground.

"Hey … you coulda hit me!" Fred protested as he tried to shove the dead weight off his legs.

Dawlish ignored Fred; instead he used his wand to separate the stunned bodies. Once the Death Eater had been dropped a few feet away he revived his partner.

As those two began arguing over Dawlish's technique (" …lucky I don't break your nose…"), Harry bound the Death Eater tightly and yanked off his mask. The face was vaguely familiar, probably someone that had been at Hogwarts in his early years. Harry knew Voldemort was recruiting heavily from that generation. One look at the vacant – dare he call it stupid? – look on the guy's face had Harry thinking that this was no 'inner circle' member. Was there something further away then 'outer'?

Fred, meanwhile, managed to convince the arguing Aurors that there were more pressing matters than Dawlish's technique. Unfortunately, he did so by making himself the target of Dawlish's wrath.

"You lot should have evacuated by now," the gruff Auror barked out, "didn't you hear the order?"

"Oh I heard it, I just ignored it," Fred curtly explained. "Like I'm going to trust a bunch of Ministry hacks to protect my shop. No offense, but to you blocks this is just a job, but to me this place is everything. I was going to leave as soon as I set up a few defenses but then those Flameballs came crashing in and Verity got hurt and I couldn't just leave."

"Your refusal to leave has cost us precious time and manpower. Instead of fighting Death Eaters we had to come in here and save you," Dawlish lectured.

"Save us? We were doing fine until you lot barreled in here," Harry responded, earning the attention of both Aurors. By the sour look on Dawlish's face, he instantly recognized Harry from their previous run-ins. He was about to make what would no doubt be a snide comment when the other Auror excitedly exclaimed, "Hey – you're Harry Potter!"

"Control yourself, Auror Levitt," Dawlish bitterly commanded as he swung around to face his partner. "Why don't you be useful for once and take that Death Eater scum down to temporary holding at the old ice cream shop." Although the two Aurors were in fact nearly the same size, Dawlish appeared to tower over Levitt as he silently challenged his partner to defy him.

With a cowed nod, Levitt moved to pull the captive to his feet. As he left, he looked over his shoulder toward Harry and said, "You really should get out of here – especially you Mister Potter. Merlin knows how they'd react if they knew you were here. We've got them mostly contained but they aren't going to go down without a fight. For the most part, they've just been causing damage and looting – and just before Christmas, too. No decency!"

"LEVITT," Dawlish screamed.

"I'm going already! No need to get your knickers in a twist. You take care, Mister Potter," he added as he pushed the bound Death Eater through the door.

"Don't think Levitt's enthusiasm means you two aren't in any trouble," Dawlish ground out as he looked between Fred and Harry.

Behind the Auror, hidden by fallen shelves and smoke, Ron almost shouted something that no doubt would have been uncomplimentary and caused greater trouble with Dawlish, but a quick shake of Harry's head stopped him. But then, it also could have been Fred's wand.

"Now no more messing around," the Auror continued, having never noticed the by-play. "Set your precious defenses quickly and get yourselves out of here so we can concentrate on our real jobs." Without so much as a 'good bye' or 'be careful', he stormed out the open space that had formerly been a window, leaving Harry and the others standing open-mouthed.

"They've got a point, Harry," Ron finally said. "We don't need more trouble right now, and if they all come after you that's pretty much what we'd get. Why don't you take Verity home, seeing as she's too shaken to get herself anywhere. I'll help Fred set off his protections and then we'll leave, too. We can all meet back up at your place."

Knowing they had a point, Harry switched places with Ron and asked Verity where she lived. It wasn't easy to ignore the sounds of battle from the Alley when every fiber of his being wanted to rush back and charge, but getting her home safely was an important job too, and he trusted that Fred and Ron could take care of themselves._ 'Probably.'_

He'd already hoisted her up and was headed back to the loo when another barrage of Flameballs hit the shop. One of the fire bombs exploded in the doorway in front of him but he tucked his head and ran through anyway, pulling Verity with him and hoping his speed would keep him safe. It mostly worked, although his back side was feeling a bit warm. Verity wasn't as lucky and he had to take a second to splash water from the sink onto her burning robes before Disapparating.

Harry expected, given his detour with Verity, that he would be the last to arrive back at the house, for it had taken what felt like hours and hours to get the terrified girl to release her death grip on his arm and stop crying on his shoulder. Entering the sitting room, which by now was tastefully and correctly decorated and full of beardless people, he was rather concerned to discover he was wrong.

"Harry dear, why are your trousers smoking?" Molly politely asked.

Quickly patting his behind, he tried to decide what to explain. "There was … a spot of trouble in the Alley."

"You don't say," Arthur replied, and looking around Harry could see that no one was surprised by his claim. In the silence (it seemed to him everyone was waiting for him to continue) the song on the wireless faded away, a voice began speaking. "To recap our big story Diagon Alley is in flames tonight as Death Eaters attack Christmas. Evacuations are under way and wounded are pouring into Saint Mungo's. If you have a loved one you think was in the Alley this evening the Ministry asks that you sit tight and wait to be contacted. More news as it comes in … and now, here's Wicked Twister singing _Red Noses, Green Hair, That Spells Christmas Cheer_."

"Oh, so you know then," Harry lamely commented. "But where are Ron and Fred?"

"They were supposed to be with you," George accused.

"No, I had to take Verity home. They were supposed to leave right after me and come back here."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than out by the front door there rang such a clatter that it drew everyone's attention. Harry turned around to find Ron half dragging Fred in through the front door.

"A little help here," he croaked as Fred started to slip from his hands. Both were covered in soot, their clothes ripped, their hands and faces littered in scratches.

Shouts of "Ron", "Fred", and "what happened" drowned each other out until finally Arthur whistled loudly. By the time he had the crowd's attention, Molly had safely hustled her boys from the area to be tended. Accepting a steaming goblet of something Harry told his part of the tale, going over bits two and three times until everyone was satisfied he wasn't holding anything back.

Harry'd just closed his eyes to rest a bit when Ron returned to the room. Ignoring the questions being tossed at him, Ron dropped onto the sofa next to Hermione. Leaning into her for support, he barely registered the goblet Bill shoved into his hand as he blankly stared into the fire.

It was only a short time later when Molly finally came in. "Fred'll be fine," she assured them, although she hesitated for just a second as her eyes fell on George. "I've put him to bed already. It was just a mild concussion, but I've given him some potions that will have him right as rain by morning." Her eyes drifted back to George, a look of confusion on her face. "Ronald," she slowly asked, turning to her youngest son, "what happened to Fred's ear?"

In response, Ron actually slunk down in his seat and tried to hide his face in Hermione's hair. "Ron?" she coaxed.

"It's not my bloody fault," he whined. "We were all set to follow Harry out when we were overrun by Death Eaters looking for Harry. Fred and I dove behind the displays and we were actually holding our own pretty well. Of course it helped that the Aurors came in behind the Death Eaters. Then one of the shelves fell over and banged him on the head. One of the Aurors shouted for us to get out, so I activated the last trap, grabbed him, and ran for the loo. Only – I'd never side-along Apparated anyone like that before. All I could think was 'don't make George's mistake'."

"Oh Ron," Hermione groaned, "determination is one of the keys of Apparition. By worrying about leaving his ear behind you made it happen."

"I said I was sorry," he tried to explain.

"Too bad he couldn't hear you," George shot back, but instead of looking upset, he actually had a goofy grin. "You all'll have to excuse me, I have a twin to go see."

A while later, when Molly had declared it to be bedtime, Harry and his friends made a detour to Fred's bedroom. They found him sitting up in his bed right next to an identical looking George. Both were smiling brightly.

"Ron! You're the man of the hour!" Fred exclaimed in the quietest shout he could manage – no one wanted Molly to catch them. "You've made us identical again!"

"From now on," George continued, "you don't have to pay for anything at the shop; well, when there is a shop again. And you've moved up on our list of favorite brothers."

"Leaped right over Charlie and Bill. You were already above Percy," Fred explained.

"What about Harry, though," George asked his twin.

"Tough call. How about I take Ron as my favorite, and you can keep Harry?"

"Done," they simultaneously agreed, crossing their arms and shaking each others hands.

"Oh honestly," Hermione huffed, "they're going to be impossible again. I say we tattoo their names on their foreheads and be done with it."

-000-

Christmas morning was a boisterous affair; one would have thought the entire household had been cursed back to childhood the way they behaved. There was no real rhyme or reason to the chaos – paper went flying and laughter rang out and all the while, Molly and Arthur sat back and sipped their tea as they watched. Even Bill had managed to put his grief away as he unwrapped a pretty pink stuffed unicorn with his daughter's name on it.

It was over ridiculously fast and as the rest of the clan took their seats in the kitchen for a scrumptious breakfast, Harry used the floo to return to Hogwarts, where he would be spending several days with his family.

With a flash and a _whoosh_, Harry tumbled out of the fireplace and directly onto Uncle Abe, who was sitting in a chair directly in front of the fireplace.

"Aberforth, give the boy some space," Albus admonished his brother, before turning to Harry and asking, "a cup of cheer, Harry?" To emphasize his point, he held a clear glass full of frothy brown liquid high in Harry's line of sight. The brothers, apparently, had started their holiday celebration early.

Politely declining the offer, Harry turned Abe's chair around so it was facing their modest Christmas tree then settled himself on the floor leaning back on an overstuffed chair. After gifts were traded and brunch as eaten, the three spent a comfortable afternoon reading (mostly Albus), grumbling about everything from watered-down tea to scratchy sheets (Abe), and playing wizard's chess with Dobby.

Harry had recently and quite by accident discovered he loved playing wizard's chess with Dobby, who had no sense of strategy whatsoever. "Dobby likes the noises the horsies makes, so them is what Dobby moves the most," the little guy had explained as he moved said horsie to keep it safe from Harry's bishop. Instead, Harry's rook gleefully attacked Dobby's queen with his sword.

After dinner that evening, Abe insisted on reading a story about the night before Christmas. Harry remembered Petunia reading such a story to Dudley every Christmas Eve, usually just before Dudley threw a tantrum and was rewarded by getting to open three of his presents early.

"Oh Aberforth … not that story," Albus bemoaned.

But Harry rather liked the idea of fulfilling a childhood wish of someone reading the story to him so he sided with Abe.

"If you are certain," Albus sighed, making Harry wonder what Albus could have against a harmless Christmas story.

"Alright now, listen up," Abe called out as he pulled out a small brown book which he opened with much flare. He cleared his throat for show. "On the night before Christmas, it's still in the house. My family is sleeping, so I'm quiet like a mouse."

Harry didn't think that sounded quite right, but as he'd only ever heard the story through the door of his cupboard, he reasoned he must not remember it correctly.

"I look at my watch, and midnight is near," Uncle Abe continued, making his voice squeaky. "I think I'll sneak out for a cold glass of beer."

'_Beer?'_ As Abe turned another page, Harry shot a confused look to his guardian, who merely smirked and motioned back toward Abe with his left hand and a dip of his head.

"Down at the corner the crowd is so merry, I end up by drinking about twelve Tom and Jerry. I get to bed late, and gee wiz how I'm sleeping, when onto my bed those darn kids they come leaping. They sit on my face and jump on my belly, and I'm quivering all over like a bowl full of jelly."

At this point, Abe was kind enough to turn the book around so Harry could see the full color illustration of three elf-like children with maniacal grins bouncing on their poor father for all they were worth. Cartoon Dad was colored the shade of mushy peas and his cheeks were ballooned out. Thankfully, the illustrated people didn't really move or else Harry feared he'd actually see the man vomit.

"They scream Merry Christmas, and my poor wife and me, we stumble downstairs and she lights up the tree. My head is exploding, my mouth tastes like a pickle. I step on a skate, and fall on a tricycle. Just before Christmas dinner, I relax to a point, then relatives start swarming all over the joint – now pay attention Harry, this next part is important for you."

Clearing his throat again he continued, "On Christmas, I hug and I kiss my wife's mother. The rest of the year, we don't speak to each other. After dinner, my aunt and my wife's Uncle Louie get into an argument; they're both awful screwy. Then all my wife's family say Louie is right, and my goofy relations – that's me and Albus, lad – they join in the fight."

"Speak for yourself, Aberforth," Albus corrected him. "I am willing to concede eccentric, but refuse to call myself goofy."

Harrumphing, Abe waved Albus off as he continued, "Back in the corner, the wireless is playing, and over the racket, Gabriel Heatter is saying, Peace on Earth everybody, and good will toward men. And just at that moment, someone slugs Uncle Ben."

"Hold it," Harry interrupted, "_someone slugs Uncle Ben_? It actually says that?"

"It's right here," Abe replied, turning the book and pointing to a random spot on the page. The picture showed a large group of people in what could only be described as a free-for-all. Right in the middle of it all stood a Christmas tree that was bent at an odd angle and was loosing it's garland and ornaments. Presents were squashed. Someone was stepping on a cat.

"What kind of Christmas story is that?"

"The realistic kind," Abe shot back. "Far better than the usual drivel. _Hanging stocking with care. Visions of sugarplums._ I ask you, who do you know that has _ever_ had a vision of sugarplums?"

Harry turned to Albus for help, but he only shrugged. "You're the one that wanted him for an Uncle."

Abe ignored Albus' last comment as he turned to the last page of the book. "They all run outside whooping for the neighbors to hear. Oh, I'm so glad Merry Christmas comes just one time a year."

Thinking on it later, Harry couldn't help but think that, despite the strangeness of the story, he'd gotten his wish after all. Maybe they'd read that story again next year.

Two days later, Harry and Albus had important plans. The double holidays were over and Diagon Alley was reopening as best as it could, and Harry desperately wanted to stop by his shop and check on the damage. Unfortunately Albus – who didn't know Harry was now a partner and therefore didn't fully understand why he was so upset – reminded him of their plans for the day.

"But …" Harry whined, using the universal teenage argument.

"That's a hairy subject, my boy, and not something I'd prefer to discuss. Now, would you care to tell me what is so important that you'd rather go shopping than look for a Horcrux?"

Albus was, Harry decided, the king of subtle guilt trips. "It's not that I don't want to go on a hunt, exactly. I just want to delay it a bit." Albus merely raised an eyebrow, and Harry knew he needed to explain. "I wanted to see how bad the damage was at the shop and talk to the twins about clean-up and repairs."

"A noble offer; but surely they have family that can assist them?"

"Well … it's sorta my business now, too. I've bought in. I purchased the building," he admitted.

"I see," Albus replied in his infuriatingly calm way. "A rather recent occurrence, I gather?"

"You could say that. We came to an agreement at the beginning of the month. In addition to the space in Diagon Alley, I'm paying to build their dream shop on the land in Godric's Hollow and letting them use my name for some things. In exchange, I got a small piece of ownership. I figured it was a good fall back for Ginny and I if our curse-breaking business doesn't take off; and she agrees."

"I had no idea you had such a head for business. I'm relieved. I shall not have to worry endlessly about your future after all. Would it help ease your mind if I shared the information Kingsley was kind enough to send me regarding the attack?"

Harry jumped at the chance to hear the official Ministry report. Now that the Ministry was run competently, he trusted their opinion.

"General destruction and terror seemed to be their goal. It is, after all, a rather tried and true strategy to weaken the enemy by destroying morale. Yet I wonder … many shop owners reported that their deposits were lost in the shuffle. And Christmas Eve being the major shopping day it is, those deposits would not have been insignificant."

With a nod of his head and a sly smile, Albus continued, "I understand your partners are an exception in this particular loss, but then, they have all sorts of imaginative traps in place, and too they did not give up without a fight. But many shops lost the entire day's take. War costs money, after all, and Voldemort lost the majority of his funding when the goblins started seizing and sealing vaults after the attack on Gringotts. Perhaps it is no coincidence that those shops that had closed early were almost completely spared."

"So it was really about the money?" a disgusted Harry asked.

"Well, it was mostly about the money. Never forget Voldemort's penchant for causing mayhem and fear. Kingsley and I estimate it was quite a lucrative venture, having cost Voldemort nothing more than a few of his lesser followers."

"Are they going to increase security in the Alley … and in Hogsmeade?"

"Indubitably. But if we do not hurry we shall be late, so I suggest we save the rest of your questions for another time."

Harry quickly changed into some school robes and the two were off.

Harry and Albus couldn't announce to the world that they were looking for a Horcrux, even if they were hoping to find it in the Ministry's Seized Objects storeroom. Shortly after Draco Malfoy had arranged for Death Eaters to enter the school through a cabinet in Borgin & Burkes, the Aurors searched the shop and seized several boxes of questionable objects, only to shove them aside after a cursory examination.

Now, Albus was hoping to find a Horcrux hidden within the mish-mash. They just needed a cover; a reason for being at the Ministry. And today's holiday luncheon hosted by the Wizengamot for all their interns, honored guests and Youth Representatives worked perfectly.

As Chief Warlock, Albus was encouraged to attend and bringing The Chosen One as his personal guest would barely cause most to blink. Hermione, as the British Youth Representative, was also attending and she was very excited to do so. To Harry, it sounded like something Percy would enjoy; and anything that Percy Weasley enjoyed, Harry was sure to hate. He just had to make it through the meal and an obligatory speech by someone in the Department of Magical Cooperation and then they could sneak away for their hunt.

Following that plan, Harry, Hermione, and Albus arrived in the lobby of the Ministry to find a small crowd milling about. Albus was his usual colorful self in silk robes of dark orange that were actually pretty tasteful, considering. Thanks to his bland school robes Harry was able to blend into the background for the most part.

The meal was tasty, if a bit fancy for Harry's taste, and the speech by Mister Too Many Quidditch Analogies was as dry and long-winded as he'd feared. Harry greeted exactly two people before leaving Hermione with the stern looking woman in charge of the Committee on Experimental Charms to excuse himself to the little wizard's room. He found Albus waiting near the lifts and together they slipped away from the reception.

Their trip to the property storeroom was uneventful; unfortunately, so was their search. The closest they came to a Horcrux was something advertised to be a petrified Dementor larva. As they left the storeroom behind them, Harry admitted, "Even though it was a long-short, I'd really hoped we'd find something."

"I too had high hopes," Albus said. "Riddle certainly had strong ties to the shop. Ah ... but there is still the shop itself. Perhaps we can arrange a little shopping trip in the near future."

Harry took the disappointment in stride. He was getting rather use to the dead ends by now. They rejoined the luncheon just in time to hear Hans Gruber, the German Delegate, entertaining the crowd with a lively version of the classic, _I Want a Hippogriff for Christmas_. Making the excuse that he needed to return to the school, Albus left shortly thereafter, taking Harry and Hermione with him. They dropped her off at Grimmauld Place before returning to Hogwarts, where Harry was spending the rest of the weekend with his family.

The morning of New Year's Eve saw Harry's return to the Weasley family. He'd exchanged several owls with the twins by then and Weasleys Wizard Wheezes had reopened with limited stock by moving into the vacant bake shop in the other half of the building. Eventually, they were thinking of tearing down the middle wall and making it one large shop, but for now at least they were back in business.

Relaxing with his friends around large bowls of popcorn, Harry told them about his trip with Kreacher to Gringotts the day before. He'd been poked and prodded, he'd had to answer questions about his vault, and for reasons he couldn't fathom, he'd had to turn a mouse into a water goblet. Then, when he'd passed all those tests, he and Kreacher had to spend an hour locked in a small square office while the goblins watched to see if anything changed.

When they'd finally made it to the vault, it didn't take the elf long to grab up the black glassy statue of a snake wrapped around what looked like a Muggle golf ball that Harry remembered finding the first time he'd looked through his Black inheritance. He still had no idea what was so special about the ugly statue, but Kreacher was hugging and rocking the thing (and if his ears were correct, singing to it) so he decided it didn't matter. After all, it had survived Albus' scrutiny, so it had to be harmless enough.

When his friends were done laughing over the surprisingly sentimental elf, Hermione told them about all the wonderful people she'd met at the luncheon. She'd talked at length with the dowager Lulu Lufkin, a Hogwart's Governor, concerning the separation of powers between the Ministry and Hogwarts. Then she'd discussed the Dementor situation with a friendly member of the Wizengamot named Matilda Dimpleton.

Sharing a glance with Ginny, Harry grinned as Hermione recounted Matilda's harrowing experience with the beasts over the summer.

"Funny thing is, she was quite certain the Patronus was a stag," Hermione added. "Isn't that funny, Harry?"

"Maybe Prongs has a playmate somewhere," he replied straight-faced. Ginny, however, was fighting a losing battle to keep her laughter contained. "How was your tour of the Ministry," he finally asked to change the dangerous subject.

Giving him a look that clearly said 'I'm on to you', she told them all about the different areas of the building she'd seen. "The law library was simply amazing … books and scrolls piled so high you can barely see the ceiling. Oh, and we got a tour of the Department of Mysteries."

"So what," Ron asked, "you'd already seen it, remember?"

"Of course I remember, but I didn't have the luxury of looking around then, now did I? Do you remember that locked room - the one that wouldn't open no matter what we tried? I asked about it but they wouldn't tell me anything."

Harry snorted, nearly chocking on a kernel of popcorn. "Albus tells me it's full of _love_," he finally got out.

"Love? But why ever would they need to keep that locked up tighter than the other rooms?" Clearly, Hermione didn't understand how dangerous love could be.

"Well," Harry tried to explain, "it's powerful … I mean, people do all sorts of great and terrible things for love, don't they. Kings have fought wars for love, and renounced their crowns for love. Parent's love their children so much they'll steal or kill for them, or even die for them."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. Really, no one did.

"Mum says her biscuits are full of love," Ginny blurted out to fill the silence.

"Oh, her biscuits are more powerful and more terrible than any other force on the planet?" Harry asked with a forced lightness.

"She claims they're the reason Dad married her," Ginny answered, glad to leave the tense subject behind them.

"Want to know why I'm marrying you?" Harry asked as he moved closer to her.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron crabbed to Hermione. "Seriously … can't they save that stuff for when they're alone?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione pulled her boyfriend from the room, reminding him that Harry and Ginny spending time alone meant the two of them got time alone.

"I thought they'd never leave," Ginny sighed as she moved into Harry's arms. "I feel like you've spent more time with my family than with me lately."

With a chuckle, Harry replied, "You're on to me, Potter. I'm only dating you to get to them."

"Umm … that's alright. I'm only with you because I don't like straining my neck to look up to my dates."

Harry replied by pushing her down and tickling relentlessly, but their fun was interrupted by Norbert pouncing on Harry's back with a laughing Charlie watching from the doorway.

Over the next several days, Harry was hard pressed to find more time alone with his girlfriend. Once Charlie had joyfully told his mum about catching Harry and Ginny "tickling each other with their mouths", she'd given him the glorious task of keeping an eye on them. Charlie took the job very seriously.

By Friday Harry was getting desperate. Not for time alone with Ginny, for he knew he'd get plenty of that at Hogwarts, but for time without his red-haired shadow. Running out of patience, he resorted to ordering Kreacher to stick a bunch of feathers behind his ears and pretend to be a Fwooper for Charlie to play-hunt. He was climbing the stairs to hide in the attic when he distinctly heard "_psst_". Glancing around, he didn't see anyone or anything that could be making the noise, so with a shrug he continued on his way.

"_Pssssst_"

Looking over his shoulder again, he spotted Ron half-hidden in the shadows, cupping his hands around his mouth as he prepared to make the noise again. Now that he had Harry's attention, Ron frantically checked for witnesses as he motioned Harry closer.

Climbing back to the landing, he followed Ron down the hall and into his bedroom. His friend was quick to close and charm the door but then instead of speaking, he pranced a bit in place.

To break the tension, Harry joked, "Hey, you have any idea what you just said in Parseltongue? That could get you arrested in seven countries, mate." But instead of some stupid or smart-ass retort, Ron continued to twitter around, and that more than anything told Harry there was something seriously wrong.

"Just spit it out, Ron," he coaxed.

"Alright … but first, you gotta agree that for the rest of this conversation your girlfriend isn't my sister, any my girlfriend isn't your other best friend. We're just two guys dating two girls and talking, alright?"

Harry was instantly torn; he didn't like the obvious direction this was taking, but much like witnesses to a dragon feeding would find themselves unable to look away, he was morbidly curious what Ron would say next. "Right … sure … just two guys with two completely unrelated girls. Got it," he agreed, although he knew if Ron admitted to anything that remotely sounded like misusing or coercing, he'd pummel him anyway.

The easy agreement must have thrown Ron off. For a split second, he did a wonderful imitation of Malfoy caught in Buckbeak's sights … then with a loud sigh that sounded like a deflating draught being used, Ron dropped onto his bed and let his head drop into his hands.

"You know how when you're with a girl," he began in a soft voice, his eyes drilling into the floor, "and you get excited and you want to but you don't so you drop her off and sneak away to, you know, do it yourself and it should be easy, but it's not. It's hard – much harder than it should be or than it's ever been before. And you don't know why it's so hard all of the sudden, when it never used to be this hard. It used to be –"

"Ron," Harry desperately called to get his friend to stop speaking. If this was some prank by Fred and George they were going to burn in hell right after he forced Polyjuice down their throats and sent them to Voldemort in his place. "Are you saying … is it, er … what do you mean by hard? Because, ah … it's supposed to … get … you know …hard and … big … when you're … happy."

At some point Ron's head had snapped up and he wildly looked at Harry, who was looking very much like a repentant house-elf as he stood near the closed door, twisting his hands together and shifting from foot to foot. "What?" Ron almost shouted. "No, not that kind of hard … I mean … _Merlin help me_, how do I explain?"

Trying his best to help his friend despite his own discomfort – his saving-people-complex being what it is – Harry took a deep breath and barreled on, "Look, does this have anything to do with your Mum catching you with that magazine?"

"The magazine? No … well yes, sort of. Oh hell," he finished, sounding defeated, "just forget I said anything."

"No … no, you obviously have some kind of problem and I want to help." Because that's what best mates did; they helped each other with embarrassing sex related issues despite knowing that it would leave them both scarred psychologically for life.

"Here's the thing," Ron began again after several moments of silence, in which Harry had leaned against the door frame and begun picking dog hairs from his jeans and Ron had counted his own fingers three times, "I was thinking … you remember that healer you told us about?"

That was certainly not what Harry had expected to hear next, and his surprise showed in his voice. "Doctor Bombay? What do ya want to know about him … man's practically insane."

"But he's good at healing, right," Ron asked, not explaining himself.

"Ron … why're you asking? Is something wrong?"

"You could say that," he evasively answered.

"Well, then, shouldn't you be talking to your Mum about this?"

"I …," Ron paused as he studied the floor again, which he apparently thought might provide hidden answers, but when it didn't he spoke up again, "I can't talk to Mum about this, alright? It's … it's … she's a woman, ain't she? … and I can't talk to a woman about _this_."

His strange emphasis on the word 'this', along with his slight dip of his head, was probably supposed to explain everything to Harry but it wasn't even close. "You're going to have to be more specific, Ron. I'm not Hermione, ya know."

Sitting up with another loud sigh, Ron looked just past Harry's shoulder and asked, "do you remember the battle at the Burrow … that strange spell that hit me in my … bits?"

"Yeah," Harry replied with a sinking feeling. At the time, he'd suspected that spell might cause trouble, but Ron had insisted that after a bit of stinging and tingling he was fine. "Do you … want to tell me what the problem is?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he got the distinct impression Ron was looking for a second opinion.

Maintaining eye contact with a replica pirate's ship, Ron barely whispered, "things aren't working right. It takes too long, if you know what I mean."

Harry wasn't exactly certain he did. He could think of a couple ways to interpret that statement, but being the man he was, he just grunted noncommittally.

Taking that to mean 'sure do', an extremely bright Ron continued, "I didn't notice it at first. I mean I did, but I just wrote it off to stress and stuff. But after Hermione and I got together, and we started … er … let's just say it became more noticeable … happened more frequently, ya know? For a bit I thought it would just fade away after a while, like the pain from the spell itself did, right? Only it hasn't."

Choosing to ignore the frankly unsettling images of Ron and Hermione that had popped into his head, Harry squeaked out, "Did … er … did you have Pomfrey check it?"

That finally got Ron to look at him. "Are you daft? I can't go to Pomfrey with this. She's a woman, too! Can you imagine having a woman poking around down there?"

Harry blushed and turned away, unwilling to admit to Ron that with his many and varied injuries and illnesses over the years, Pomfrey had likely seen all he had to see. "So … you want to see Dr. Bombay?"

"Yeah … I think maybe I'd best see someone before, you know, it falls off or something."

"Right," he readily agreed, snapping out of a flashback to his embarrassing lecture from Albus barely two weeks ago, when he'd been warned of the dangers of things shriveling. "No better time than the present, I suppose. Why don't we head out after lunch. We'll tell the girls I need something from home and you're coming with me."

An hour later, Ron was having second thoughts as he sat in the Mugglish waiting room flipping through a magazine about fly fishing. To make matters worse, Dr. Bombay called out "where's the fresh meat?" as he appeared in the doorway.

Turning, Harry saw the man had outdone himself. He was wearing bright red velvet robes – complete with white fur trim – with one of his trademark 'lab coat robes' over top. The over robe, of course, was Kelly green for the holiday. He was, as usual, wearing a Muggle stethoscope like it was a necktie, but now he had what appeared to be a thermometer tucked behind his ear like Luna would do with her wand.

Ron nearly bolted but Harry was able to convince him to stay, noting that he'd never seen the man in actual wizard's clothes before so this was an improvement. Ron followed the Doctor into the examination room but as Harry tried to enter, Bombay turned on him and glared, "privacy, Mister Potter," before slamming the door in his face.

As he turned to head back to the waiting room a plain wooden chair appeared next to the door and he took the hint and plopped down. Thirty-two minutes later Bombay strode from the room. "You can take him back now … unless there's something I can do for you? How's your equipment working?"

"Just fine," Harry quickly spit out, unconsciously covering himself with his hands.

"And that tummy trouble of yours … still taking it easy on the birdie treats?"

"All under control," he assured the healer.

"Right then. I've got some eggs that need nogged, so I'd best skedaddle. You tell Albus I said Happy New Year, right sonny?"

"Er … alright," he replied, knowing he had no intention of mentioning this trip to Albus.

Bombay either didn't notice his hesitation or he hadn't really paid attention to Harry's response. He just smiled, patted Harry on the shoulder, and said, "that's a good lad," before walking away.

As the doctor disappeared down a side hall, Harry peaked into the room to find a pale Ron sitting up on the exam bed. His friend looked shell-shocked – like he'd just met another of Hagrid's pets up-close and personal.

"Ron, you alright there, mate?" he tentatively asked as he entered into the room.

Still sitting, a pale Ron turned to face his friend, "Did you see that thing he had behind his ear? You won't believe where he wanted to put that." He visibly shuddered before continuing, "and piss in a cup? What would he even do with that? If he's been making you do that for him, no wonder you won our pissing contest last summer."

"Yeah," Harry absently agreed, glad to see Ron coming back to life. "But what did he say?"

"Honestly? A whole bunch of stuff that didn't mean anything at all … and he lectured me on proper hygiene and, er, handling of the equipment."

"Lovely; but I meant what did he say about your problem?"

"Oh, well, he gave me this potion – tasted kinda like garlic and tuna – and a salve that I'm supposed to … rub in for the next ten days. Then it should work normal again, but Harry ... he said ... he said ... my family potion's expired! He says I can't have kids."

**** end chapter ****

**Notes: ** Abe's story is taken from the song "I Just Go Nuts At Christmas" by Jorgi Jorgenson – we listened to the song every Christmas until my mother hid the record. I left in the Gabriel Heatter reference – let's just pretend he was British.

And to everyone kind enough to ask – the skating show was a major success. The kids in our club did a great job and our guest skaters definitely earned some new fans. Thanks for sticking through the long wait.


	36. A Difference of Opinion

I don't own, you know, Harry Potter and stuff.

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**Chapter 36. A Difference of Opinion**

Cold, snowy, and grey; words that described not only the weather but also the atmosphere in the castle. To Harry it felt like months had gone by since Christmas break when in fact it had only been two weeks. The terror of the Christmas Eve Attack was still on everyone's minds despite there being no major Death Eater activity since. Not a single disappearance was blamed on Voldemort, which sounded like good news until you realized that a quiet Voldemort was a plotting Voldemort. Subsequently, Harry, like many of his friends, was having a hard time focusing on schoolwork.

It didn't help that there was an empty bed staring at him every time he entered his dorm. Late at night, when the rest of room was asleep, Harry imagined he could hear the bed growling at him, as if it knew he was the reason its boy was missing. He also couldn't shake the strange pang he felt every time he caught Ron staring at a picture of Bill holding baby Josette. He knew he wanted children some day but he'd never really considered that Ron might, too.

Several times in those weeks the pain in his scar – which was normally a dull ache that he'd pretty much learned to ignore – would spike, leaving him dizzy and light-headed for a few minutes. Once, during Transfiguration, instead of tapering off it intensified to the point where he was seeing bursts of light that seemed to be inside his eyelids. He'd been standing at the time, practicing a spell, and he'd shut his eyes tightly and bit back a moan while his wand clattered onto the table. Hermione, instantly noticing something was wrong, guided her shaky friend back into his seat and encouraged him to rest his head on the table.

In a move that took the rest of the class by surprise – for they hadn't noticed Harry's distress nor would they ever think of McGonagall as soft – the Professor dismissed the class early. After the others had bustled out of the room, she all but demanded that Ron help Harry to bed while Hermione gathered their things.

The morning after, he wasn't looking forward to reading the Daily Prophet. He'd taken one of his happy pills when he'd first climbed into bed, but since it hadn't even been dinner time yet it had worn off long before he'd awaken, leaving him with some very disturbing dreams. Not to mention, they did nothing for the lingering rage he felt upon waking. He'd been sorely tempted to grab his wand and curse Seamus for closing a door too loudly, and he'd called Dean an unflattering name when they'd bumped into each other in the shower room doorway.

Returning to the dorm after a semi-relaxing shower, Harry was surprised to find Dean waiting on his bed. "Look, Dean, about earlier—"

"Stop, Harry. Before you apologize, I just want to say something. I know you've got some weird-arse mind-meld thing going on with You-Know-Who." Harry almost interrupted, but Dean wouldn't let him. "Mate, I've shared this dorm with you for six and a half years now. Did you really think you'd done that good a job of hiding it?"

Harry merely shook his head.

"So, as I was trying to explain, I can usually tell the difference between your normal moodiness and when _he's_ bothering you. Your bad mood this morning – it was because of him, wasn't it?"

"He's really … _upset_ about something."

"I could tell. You had this pained look on your face, and your scar gets a bit puffy, like it's got an itch or something. Plus, you were moaning a lot in your sleep – and not in the good way," he added with a saucy look. "What I'm trying to say is you don't have to apologize when it happens. I know you don't mean it. But … you try getting pissy with me when it's not You-Know-Who related and I'll put you in your place. We cool?"

"Cool," Harry agreed, although he suspected Dean wouldn't find it all that easy to 'put him in his place', if it ever came to that.

The two headed down for breakfast but their little talk had made them rather late. Harry had just enough time to grab a pastry before Hermione grabbed him to leave for Charms.

Stopping him long enough for a hello/goodbye kiss, Ginny hissed, "read this," as she shoved the day's paper into his hand. Glancing down he read the headline, _Malfoy Manor Destroyed_. Beneath the banner was a picture of a rubble pile that resembled an archeological dig more than a manor. If it wasn't for the twisted remains of an iron gate, with its fancy 'M' just barely distinguishable, he wouldn't have believed. It was obviously the work of Voldemort; the Dark Mark was clearly visible hovering over the debris field.

"_Come on_," Hermione was urging him as she pulled on his arm.

He stuffed the paper into his bag and let her lead the way. But once he was in Charms class, while his fellow students were reading about first-aid charms, he was covertly perusing the Daily Prophet.

…_parts of the once grand manor look to have been dismantled stone by stone, while other sections appear to have been blasted apart … Muggles in the area claimed to hear loud booming noises and feel the ground shake … unsafe as it is still smoldering … was reputed to have been used as a base of sorts for none other than He Who Must Be Stopped as recently as November … had been searched several times in the past … Malfoy denied the existence of several hidden rooms and compartments ... not seen since summer and is rumored to be dead … Minister Bluestreak will make a brief statement …_

A series of loud shrieks startled Harry, and he looked around to find Padma Patil rolling on the ground with blood oozing from every visible opening. A guilty-looking Michael Corner stood next to her, his wand still pointed where Padma had been sitting.

"You were told to read, Mister Corner," Flitwick admonished as he made his way to the fallen girl. "This was not a practical lesson. You'll help me get her to the hospital wing and explain exactly what you did to the Nurse – you'll be just fine Miss Patel, just give it a squeeze … like that … come now. The rest of you," he added a bit louder, "can read the next chapter while I am gone."

"What do you think happened?" Ron asked Harry as soon as the door closed behind the three. Harry didn't need to ask what he was referring to.

"Voldemort," he simply answered, as if that explained everything. Then he glanced around the room and covertly cast Muffliato. "He's looking for the cup – I'm sure of it. Probably reasoned that if Bellatrix took it she might have given it to her sister to hide."

"Actually, either Lestrange could have hidden it there," Hermione added, giving up the pretense that she, at least, was reading. "They were all living there over the summer."

"Question is," Harry continued, "did he find it. Either way, though, this is bad news. If he found it, it's out of our reach. If he didn't, he's still looking, which makes our search more difficult. Can you imagine if we ran into each other searching the same place?"

"Oh Harry, there's no use brewing trouble. The odds of that happening must be about 1,202 to one," Hermione assured him.

"You're just making that up," Ron accused her.

"Sure I am Ron, that's why I'm getting an Outstanding in Arithmancy and you're getting … oh wait, you don't even take the class, do you?" she ended sweetly.

Ignoring their bickering, Harry asked, "What if he starts to worry about his other Horcruxes and decides to check on those, too?"

"He won't," Hermione tried to assure him, but she didn't sound as authoritative as she normally did. "I don't think he'd want to draw attention to any of those places."

"I think you're grossly underestimating him. He's one of the smartest wizards Seba's ever taught. At some point, he's going to figure out that if the diary could be destroyed and the cup lost, maybe his others aren't quite as safe as he thinks. And what do you think he'll do then?"

"Make more," Ron answered matter-of-factly … then seemed to freeze as he realized what that meant.

Shaking his head at the thought, Harry insisted, "We need to use that ritual you found, Hermione. It's the only way. According to Slytherin, it doesn't matter how many Horcruxes there are, or what or where they are. They all end up bound together so when I kill him I destroy them at the same time."

Ron looked slightly confused. "Then why don't you just use it and be done? What's Dumbledore got against it?"

"You mean aside from that bit about requiring someone to kill themselves and needing a sample of Tom Riddle's blood," Hermione asked.

"He thinks Slytherin's book might be misleading; that it won't really work," Harry replied, ignoring Hermione's sarcastic response. "But it's the right thing to do … I know it is. I just have to figure out how to get around those two little problems."

Ron's snort was likewise ignored.

"I guess I've got some major research to do," Harry carried on. "I'm going to find a way to make it work even if I have to start in the Ancient Runes section and work my way around the entire library."

"If you insist on doing it, you're going to be doing it without my help," Hermione replied with a shake of her head. "I'm hip-deep in my own research project." Seeing Ron's confusion, she explained, "How to remove the sawol from the relics. Now that we have the locket Horcrux, it's more important than ever to figure out."

"But once we use the ritual, that won't be an issue anymore," Harry tried to reason.

"Don't take this personally, Harry," Hermione began in a voice that was way too polite, "but you may never get it to work. I hate saying that, because I was so excited when I first found it, too. But those are some pretty major obstacles." Seeing the hurt look on his face, she rushed to continue, "I'm not saying it's impossible, just hard enough that we shouldn't rely on it as our sole plan. Until we can come up with a way to get his blood – and use it without affecting you – I'm going to continue on with the original plan. I'm not being pessimistic, just practical."

No one spoke for a moment, and with a sigh she finally added, "I won't try to stop you from researching it. I'll even give you some advice. It'd be a better use of your time to start in a section of the library that might actually contain useful information, like the Dark Arts or Potions sections. And the Restricted Section wouldn't hurt, either."

"Is there a Dark Rituals involving Other People's Blood section?" Ron asked, earning him a glare from his girlfriend. "'Cause that's where I'd look."

Flitwick chose that moment to return, and Harry cancelled his spell as Ron hopped back to his seat to pick up his book to pretend to read. In front of them, Susan Bones and Lisa Turpin were hastily putting away a stack of parchment.

After scanning the classroom (and no doubt seeing several books being hastily opened), Professor Flitwick called out, "surprise quiz, everyone. Bones, Turpin, Weasley, and Zabini, front and center. You four are going to take an oral quiz, and the score you manage is the score the entire class receives. First question – in what year was the first tooth-numbing charm used by a licensed healer?"

Ron could have better guessed what year the first ice cream shop had opened in Diagon Alley than answered that question. Luckily, Susan knew it was 1504, earning three points. Lisa Turpin correctly named Oppsie Olson as the first witch to successfully switch an arm for a leg and Blaise Zabini proved to be a fount of knowledge when it came to poison home-remedies. Ron did get one right, though Harry didn't want to know how his friend knew which charm worked best to alleviate female troubles.

The period ended with the good news that the entire class received an Average on the quiz. Hermione was the only student unhappy with the news; understandable, it was her first Average in any class other than Potions (which she felt was undeserved) and Defense Against the Dark Arts (which she _knew_ was undeserved).

Two weeks later, Harry was well into his research project. Per Hermione's suggestion, he'd started his search in the Potions section of the library. Unfortunately, that section was actually made up of seven bookshelves, each reaching from the floor to the tip of the light fixtures hanging from the raised ceiling, and that wasn't counting the shelves full of books written in dead languages or the philosophical works, which Harry thought belonged in the fiction area for as much practical information as they held. In other words, there were more books than he could hope to sort through in an entire year, let alone a few months.

Deciding stalling was getting him nowhere, he stopped at the first shelf, counted up six rows to the place he'd stopped last time, and grabbed the first book on the row. _A Debate Over Dark Potions: are they really all that bad?_ After checking to see that Madam Pince wasn't watching (she was lecturing some First Years on the proper way to turn pages), he tapped the cover of the book and whispered, "Invenio shared blood." There were fifty-two occurrences. He slumped to the floor as he flipped the book to page 18.

Two hours later, he shoved _Deflating the Draught Myth_ back into its proper place and twisted his back to work out the kinks. He'd worked through dinner by bringing a sandwich with him, which he'd managed to hide from the librarian with a disillusionment charm, but he needed to get moving if he was going to make it to the DA meeting on time. Tonight, he was keeping his promise to Hermione and coaching most of the students on the Patronus Charm.

He arrived just a few minutes late, mumbling his apologies as he dropped into the closest empty chair. At the front of the room, Hermione and Ron were answering questions. Harry had to stop himself from laughing as one gullible young lady asked if the Patronus Charm could really protect you from detentions with Professor Snape.

Finally, the questions were over and it was time for a practical demonstration. Hermione went first, sending her otter skipping around the room. Then Ron's terrier, perhaps not quite as bright as the otter, but corporal nonetheless, ripped around for a spell. Then, with a nod from Hermione, Harry stood and brandished his wand. He took a fraction of a second to remember the last time Ginny had whispered, "I love you, silly boy" in his ear and shouted "Expecto Patronum".

Prongs appeared; bigger and brighter than Harry remembered him being in the past. He was so well defined as he stood tall and proud you could almost see his chest moving and his tail twitching. With a sideways flick of Harry's wand, Prongs set off cantering around the room before turning back to face Harry. As had become his custom (for Harry now believed Prongs was somewhat sentient) he dipped his head to Harry before fading away.

Where the otter and the terrier had gotten 'ohs' and 'ahs' from the crowd, Prongs was called "amazing", "witch'in", and "bloody awesome".

"I knew you were the man," Dierks Harper called out.

Under Hermione's direction, the students divided into three groups: those who could form an animal, those who could produce mist, and those who either couldn't manage anything or had never tried before. Harry's job was to work with that last group, which put him in with the Slytherin contingent. In all, five Slytherins had joined Harper in the DA, and Harry felt a bit proud to see those six students working side by side with kids from the other houses. He made a mental note to mention it to the Sorting Hat the next time he was in Albus' office.

By the end of the meeting, many of the new students could form at least mist, and almost all of the returning students could form an animal. Since Harry had turned down Hermione's request to bring in a boggart – _"I don't think it'd be a Dementor any more, and trust me, no one wants to see what it would be"_ – they could only hope the students would perform as well if put on the spot.

As the meeting broke up, Harry hung back to chat with some of the students he knew, graciously accepting congratulations on his triumphant return and dodging questions about rejoining on a permanent basis. Someone calling his name caught his attention, and he turned to find Harper and another Slytherin standing away from the crowd. "Excuse me," he said as he made his way over.

Harper smiled as he watched Harry approaching, then motioned for him to follow as he moved further away from the others. His arm, Harry noticed, was tightly wrapped around the other Slytherin, a good looking girl with a thick braid of brown hair lying carelessly over her shoulder.

"This is Trina, she's a Fifth Year," Harper said by way of introduction. "Look, Harry, I haven't got much time but I wanted to warn you. Nott is planning something. I've no idea what it is, and I don't know when it will happen … he's very careful about what he says and does around me, 'cause he knows who my Granddad is. But he's let a few things slip around friends of mine that've made their way back to me. He's definitely up to something."

As Harry thanked him for the information, Harper reached out and put his hand on Harry's arm. "One more thing. I think … I think he was behind whatever happened to the Longbottom kid."

Harry didn't say anything, but he was sure his brief nod got his point across.

"Right. Of course you already know that. So you probably already know to be careful, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to warn you anyway. You need to make it safely through the year so Slytherin can beat Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup without anyone saying 'yeah, but'."

That last bit did its job and had all three laughing. "Thanks for the warning, Dierks. But you've got to know Slytherin can't beat Gryffindor for the Cup when I'm in all our games." He thought for a second before adding, "you know, it's kinda pathetic that I have to clarify that."

Harry headed back to the tower with his friends in a slightly better mood knowing that there were Slytherins actively on his side. If only the good news had carried into his research, or as Ron had dubbed it, 'Harry's latest obsession'. "Mind you, if it keeps him from spending lots of alone time with my sister, I'm all for it," he'd declared.

It was during one such Obsession Hunt in February that Harry's research came crashing down on him. He and Hermione were perusing the Restricted Section as they worked on their respective projects when Harry realized he needed a different book. The one he was currently reading, _Curdling Blood and Other Painful Curses_, referenced a potion which combined human and reptile blood, and he was certain he'd read something similar in a Potions books. After checking his notes, he stood and nudged Hermione.

"Watch my stuff? I need to go grab _Binding Animals to Humans in Fifty-Two Easy Steps_ from the Potions section."

"I thought you were working in the Dark Arts section," Hermione asked without looking up from the notes she was taking.

"I didn't think I could handle another book that began with a ten-page lecture on why you shouldn't try anything in the book, so I've been skipping around. But don't worry, I know exactly where I left off in each section."

"That's not a very efficient plan, Harry," she replied, finally looking at him.

"Have I ever claimed my plans are efficient?"

"No," she laughed, "I don't think anyone's ever accused you of that. Now go find your book and leave me alone – you've made me lose my place."

It didn't take him long to find the correct shelf, but the books were out of order – _'heads will roll'_ – so he was taking his time searching when a hushed voice caught his ear.

"… like that. You need to stress the second syllable. It's deh-SEN-doe." Looking around, Harry spotted three rather small students bunched together over a book. The one facing him, a plump boy with a scrunched face and bangs hanging in his eyes, didn't seem to be enjoying the others' help. Harry couldn't help but smile as he remembered Hermione's lecture on the proper pronunciation of 'Wingardium Leviosa'; not to mention how Ron had put that lesson to use.

Harry was so caught up in remembering the past he barely registered the small voice calling out "deh-SEN-doe". The shock of someone actually attempting a spell in the library was quickly replaced by the stone-cold certainty that something bad was about to happen.

From behind him, that something creaked and moaned loudly. Then came the sharp banging noises, as if heavy objects were bumping into each other, which quickly turned into a rumbling noise that filled the entire library as the very floor seemed to move under his feet. Harry turned around and saw the bookshelves behind him swaying.

One of the giant bookshelves had toppled into the next, starting a ripple effect that would bring the entire library crashing down. Without thinking, Harry tried to steady them but one wand against an entire library of bookshelves was destined to fail. Standing right in the middle of an aisle, he had no time to get out of the way. He blacked out as he was buried under a mound of books and splintered wood.

Harry woke in a dark place that smelled oh-so-familiar. Slowly reaching out while trying his best to stay flat on the bed, he found his glasses and put them on, grateful they'd survived the burial. He'd learned over the years that it wasn't actually the waking-up that alerted Pomfrey's charms, it was the heavy shifting of your weight as you tried to sit up that did it. (A lesson that had helped him hear conversations he was meant to miss on several occasions.) A sudden panic came over him until he spotted his wand, also in one piece, lying on the bedside table.

Dreading what the nurse would have to say this time, he decided to put off the discussion as long as possible by not drawing any attention to himself. Carefully picking up his wand, he used it to levitate his book bag, which someone had thoughtfully left on a nearby chair, so he could draw out a book. He couldn't work on homework while he was mostly flat on his back but he could read. Digging toward the bottom, he pulled out a paperback book that had been charmed to look like _Prefects Who Gained Power_. The title of the book was actually _If My Soul I Give to You_, a horridly sappy name that Harry hoped meant it contained plenty of good parts – the worst-named ones usually did.

He opened the book to chapter three, eager to see what happened after the hero, Maxim Rosewood, the Earl of Waverly, had accused the heroine, Veronica, of stealing The Multi-Colored Prism, which was supposed to be a powerful artifact that had been in his family for generations and was used to find lost heirs, but which could cause financial ruin in the wrong hands. Harry hadn't really understood that part, but figured it must make sense somehow.

Veronica had just fallen into a pond and somehow managed to rip off most of her clothes while attempting to climb out when a shadow blocked Harry's reading light.

"Comfy are we, Mister Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked with a smirk.

"Not really," he said, briefly glancing up from his book, "I could use an extra blanket. It seems drafty in here tonight. Maybe you should go check on the fire."

"Maybe I should check your head. You seem to have lost all sense of self-preservation if you thought getting cheeky with the lady that can grant you freedom was a smart move."

Caught off guard by her unusually playful answer, he shut his book and turned his attention fully to her.

"Now that I have your attention; as you only lost consciousness when you weakened yourself in rather misguided attempt to re-balance every bookshelf in the library at one time, you merely needed sleep and a strengthening solution. You've had sleep; and here is your Strengthening Solution." To prove her point, she held out a goblet full of potion.

"So no damage from the avalanche?" Harry asked.

"Did you really think that no one in the history of the written word had ever created a spell that protects library patrons from falling books? Surely you're familiar with the phrase 'sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never harm me.'?"

"But … that's … Muggles …"

"Hmm, perhaps you'd best finish that goblet before I decide your brain is more addled then I'd first suspected." After he'd finished the sour concoction and handed back the goblet, she added, "more sleep is best. My first inclination is to keep you overnight, but I am willing to allow you to leave if you promise to go straight to your bedroom and straight to bed."

Barely believing his luck – not only could he leave, but he hadn't been lectured at all, at least not health-wise – he perked up. "Right; dorm and bed, got it."

"Not dorm, Mister Potter. Bedroom. I believe it's located in the Headmaster's quarters. That way, not only can I be assured that you will follow my orders, but upon seeing you for himself, Albus can stop his worried pacing. Honestly, the man's already fully gray. Are you trying to make him go bald as well?"

"This wasn't even my fault," Harry indignantly insisted. "It was some little twerps trying to learn a spell in the library, for Merlin's sake! Everyone knows not to use magic in the library. What were they thinking, blatantly breaking such an important rule," he added.

The irony was clearly lost on him, but not on Pomfrey, who nearly choked trying to hold her laughter in. She quickly excused herself, supposedly so he could clean himself up before leaving.

Albus was indeed pacing in front of the fireplace in his office as Harry came through and he followed the boy into their quarters. "I cannot decide if I am more relieved or more surprised to see you here. I had expected Poppy to hold you overnight."

"She let me go as long as I promised to go straight to bed," Harry explained.

"Ah, then you should not let me keep you from your bed … although … I do wonder if you could give me just the slightest moment of your time?"

"Yes," Harry quickly agreed, happy for the excuse to ignore the nurse's orders.

"When word came that you had been injured in the library, I was of course concerned for your wellbeing," Albus admitted as he sank into a nearby seat. "Luckily, I was quickly assured you'd suffered no real damage. But I couldn't help but wonder why you were in the library in the first place. I confess I have noticed the excessive amount of time you've been spending there. Are you having trouble with your school work?"

"Oh, no … classes are going well. Grades are all good, which I'm certain you already know, and I'm even ahead in Transfiguration thanks to Minerva's hints last summer."

"Then what could possibly be keeping you there? You've not developed a teenage crush on Madam Pince, have you?" Albus asked in a concerned voice.

"I think I can speak for the entire male population of Hogwarts when I say crushing on Madam Pince isn't possible. That's like accusing a girl of crushing on Filch."

"Just as well, I do not particularly fancy her as a daughter-in-law. So tell me, what have you been up to in the library?"

"Killing Dr. Black with the rope," Harry deadpanned.

Albus blinked. "Forgive me, Harry, but I do not believe I heard you correctly."

"Never mind. If you must know, I've been researching part of Slytherin's ritual; trying to solve the 'Essence of the Immortal' problem by finding a way to separate my blood from his."

"I thought we'd agreed not to pursue Slytherin's ritual, as it is highly suspect at best, and murderous at worst."

"No," Harry quickly replied, "_you_ decided not to pursue it. I still think it's our best chance."

"Harry, you promised –"

"I promised not to experiment and I haven't. It's called research for a reason, you know. All I'm doing is searching for possible answers."

"It is a waste of time," Albus responded in a slightly raised voice. "We have no concrete proof that the ritual works, only circumstantial evidence and so-called gut instincts. We should be concentrating on finding the remaining Horcruxes, not on wild-dodo chases."

"A fat lot of good that's doing us," Harry shot back, his own voice rising just a bit louder than Albus'. "We haven't found anything lately. And my gut is screaming at me that this ritual is the answer."

"You want me to risk the entire war on your gut screaming at you? I'm certain Poppy could give you a potion to take care of that, then you can forget this foolishness and put your efforts into something more worthwhile."

"Foolishness?" Harry screeched as he shot out of his seat. "That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think? Two years ago, all _you_ had was circumstantial evidence and a gut instinct. When you first told me about the Horcruxes, we didn't have proof of any Horcrux beyond the diary. But _your_ gut instinct and _your_ circumstantial evidence was good enough for me, because I had faith in you."

"It's not a matter of faith, Harry."

"Isn't it? You ask me – you ask all of us to believe in you and follow you, blindly at times, and we do. But I ask the same of you once – just once – and you won't even listen to me. You just tell me to be quiet and do as I'm told like a good little boy. Well you know what? If you can't have a little faith in me, maybe I don't need to have any in you." Turning his back on his guardian, Harry stormed to his room.

"Harry –", he began, but the sharp sound of a door slamming cut off the rest of his thought.

The muffled, "you tell 'em, Harry," coming from Abe's room didn't help Albus' mood any.

Harry stubbornly held onto his anger all through the night, refusing to leave his room for a late supper or even wish Albus a good night. He woke at a ridiculous hour to sneak back to Gryffindor Tower without running into his guardian. By sheer willpower he was able to keep from taking his sour mood out on his friends; instead he was quiet and pensive most of the following days.

His friends – since they were true friends who only cared about his well being – badgered the story out of him, with varying reactions. Hermione was appalled that Albus had dismissed Harry's opinions so casually, feeling the Headmaster should have been more respectful.

Harry felt it best not to point out that Albus' views on the ritual practically mirrored her own, seeing as how she was outraged on his behalf.

Ron's reaction was actually what Harry had expected from Hermione (in sentiment, not language). He couldn't believe Harry "had the dragon's balls to tell the Headmaster you aren't on his side anymore."

"What?" Harry sputtered. "I never said that."

"Sure you did. You said if he didn't believe in you, you wouldn't believe in him. If that doesn't mean you aren't on his side anymore, what does it mean?"

"It … well … I just meant … you're totally missing the point, Ron. He doesn't believe in me."

Ron just shook his head. "'Course he doesn't, Harry. It's nothing personal; he just sees you as a kid. Same with my Mum. She lets us join the Order so we can fight a war, then tries to set a curfew. It's just something parents do. After a while, you just get used to it."

Harry shook his head. "One problem, Ron. He's not really my parent."

"Isn't he? I rather thought that was why it hurt so much that he didn't support your idea."

Harry very much wanted to be stubborn and insist that Albus wasn't his parent; but he couldn't bring himself to repeat the lie. He'd even called him Dad once; not to his face, but when he was talking with Charlie over Christmas, hadn't he referred to him that way? Suddenly confused – was he still angry over Albus' lack of faith, or was he hurt that he'd lost his father-figure's approval, and why did he want to run to him and give him a big hug, and how could Ron of all people be so insightful – Harry picked up a book and made quite the production out of starting his homework.

Unfortunately, in the weeks to follow, Harry was still teetering between angry and sentimental. He couldn't figure out why he couldn't let this go, and whenever he brought it up with either Ginny or Hermione he just got sympathetic looks – the kind that said 'you poor thing, you'll figure it out eventually'.

He'd decided the best way to deal with his conflicting feelings was to avoid spending time alone with Albus, which only left him feeling guilty on top of the everything else.

He tried to trick himself by spending the time he would have spent with Albus with Tonks instead. It wasn't about avoiding Albus, he could then reason, it was about helping his friend. He was right on that count, at least, as his visits really did seem to help cheer up the otherwise despondent professor. During one particularly strange visit, a very Remus-looking Tonks cried on his shoulder and begged him to call her Dora before jumping up (and dumping an entire pot of tea in his lap) and calling herself an "emotional ninny".

It didn't, however, assuage his guilt. Especially when he kept running into the man when he visited Uncle Abe.

Early one such Saturday near the end of February Harry entered Albus' office on his way to visit Abe. To his surprise, Hermione was sitting with Albus at a work table surrounded by books and parchment. By now he'd grown rather good at crossing through the room on his visits to Uncle Abe with the bare minimum of conversation with Albus, but wondered if he should say something to his friend. Seeing her shift uncomfortably, he decided he'd better. "Still looking for a way to remove a sawol?"

"Oh yes," she eagerly replied. "I've started to think that the Dementor's Kiss is so very similar to what we want to do that it's an avenue worth studying. Right now I'm reading the biography of a Mesopotamian witch who was believed to have created the first Dementor. It's absolutely fascinating."

Before she could get carried away and recite the entire book, Harry held up the magazines in his hand. "Sounds fun. Don't let me keep you from it. I'm just taking these to Uncle Abe."

He was certain he felt her gaze on his back as he exited the room. She was probably upset that he'd ignored Albus, but he honestly didn't know what to say to the man these days.

Unbeknownst to him, Harry was both completely correct and woefully ignorant. Hermione was upset, but not only with him. She felt Albus was as much to blame as Harry, maybe even more so. It had to have really hurt her friend for his guardian to tell him he didn't believe in him.

Tuning out the tale of Lilitu and her Demon-child, she remembered the time her own father had told her he didn't believe in her. She had been nine and weird things had been happening around her for a while. In particular, she had a knack for finding lost things. Well, not finding, really. More like, the more she would look for the lost item (usually one of her father's books that she wasn't supposed to be reading), the more upset she'd get until finally, what ever was missing would just appear right in front of her. Just like magic.

This particular time it was her father's car keys. He'd misplaced them and they needed to leave _now_. Mema Granger was in hospital; the cancer had spread; and it was time. They had three hours to drive and they were trying to beat the clock, so every second counted.

Her normally practical father was ready to pull his hair out when she'd walked right up to him and calmly said, "I'll get them for you Daddy. Lost things have a way of finding me when I need them."

"Not now, Mimi. I don't have time for your silly games," he'd told her without even looking at her.

"But Daddy, it's not a game. I can find them."

"I said not now," he'd barked. "This is important. Oh, I think the spare set is still in the jewel box upstairs." Then he'd sprinted up the stairs before she could say another word.

She had been quiet the entire drive, wondering why he'd called her silly when he knew that if she said she could find them, she meant it. She never joked with her father about serious things. Her parents had both taken her silence for sorrow, as Mema had passed less than an hour after they'd finally arrived. With funeral and estate affairs, the moment had been completely forgotten by her parents. But not by her. Forgiven, yes … but never forgotten.

The sound of Albus closing another book caught her attention. Covertly looking, she could see the sadness her Headmaster was feeling.

Taking a breath to gather her courage, she started, "I can't help but feel a little responsible, Sir. I'm the one that found the ritual."

Albus said nothing, but he did turn his attention to her, which she took as permission to continue butting into their business.

"Between the two of us, I don't think it's the miracle Harry thinks it is." He still said nothing; she presumed he wanted to hear what she had to say. "I do think it is real – that Slytherin used it to destroy Doscara's Horcrux. I just don't think we can recreate it, as there are too many obstacles. The most obvious being the difficulty in obtaining Voldemort's blood."

"I am afraid I do not share your belief, Miss Granger."

"I know," she agreed, "and that's the problem. You see, while we don't believe it's the right answer … Harry does. So I support him in his research. Because that's what friends do, they support each other."

Albus seemed to consider what she'd said. "You think I should allow him to waste time and energy trying to catch a shadow?"

"What harm can it do? At worst, he's spent hours reading about magic in the library, which I don't see as a bad thing. But I think you're forgetting something. If there's anyone on this planet that could catch a shadow, it would be Harry. After slaying a fifty-foot magical snake, I should think catching a shadow is child's play."

Giving her a piercing gaze, Albus asked, "you really think he can find a way to make the ritual work, despite all the inherent problems?"

Hermione thought long and hard before answering. "You know, I think I do."

After looking her in the eye for a moment, he conceded, "I shall consider your words, Miss Granger. Now, perhaps we should get back to our research?"

"Of course, Sir," she said. Picking up the book she'd been reading, she turned it to face him. "Can you look at this and tell me if it means what I think it means, because if it does, we're definitely getting close."

Albus was almost through with the passage when Harry re-entered the room. Hesitating by the door, Harry cleared his throat. When his guardian looked up, he spoke. "Uncle Abe's looking at his girly magazines again. You might want to do something with them before Healer Flora gets here. You know she doesn't appreciate seeing that."

"I will do that, Harry," Albus said, making eye contact with the boy. "Thank you for informing me."

"Oh, no problem," he replied, caught off guard by Albus' warm response. "Well … I've got to go. Bye."

A few minutes after Harry had left Albus pulled a worn parchment out of his pocket, tapped it with his wand and tried to quietly say, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Seeing Hermione's face, he smiled as he explained, "I tried to say the phrase in a more grammatically pleasing format, but it called me a stuffy bookworm and refused to show anything but the library. Sirius' influence, no doubt." Searching the map, he finally said, "ah, there he is … headed for the music room, if I am not mistaken. Odd, that room should be empty right now."

Looking at the upside down map, it took her a few moments to locate the dot labeled 'Harry Potter'. By the time she did, he'd already entered the unused room. "Oh look, he's – _oh my_!"

Gently touching her hand, Albus implored, "Miss Granger, trust me when I say that in a school full of hormonal teenagers, one sees many shocking things. Mister Boot entertaining himself in Professor Trelawney's classroom last weekend comes to mind. These private things are best kept to oneself. Secrets, like rabbits, multiply at the slightest chance."

"But…," she sputtered, her eyes still trained on the map.

"I ask that you refrain from mentioning you saw this to _anyone_," he cautioned her. "After all, one can never be certain who else knows a secret without giving it away, can one? And - might I add - your friends deserve their privacy, do they not?"

Right at that moment, Hermione realized it was true; everyone had a bit of all four houses inside them. "I'll keep it to myself, Professor, if you agree to talk to Harry."

"Well played, Miss Granger. Very well ... I accept your terms." The twinkle in his eye was unmistakable.

Hermione nodded her agreement and got back to work, but couldn't ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that wondered who had manipulated whom.

**** end chapter ****

**NOTES**: Quick reminder – there are three remaining Horcruxes: Hufflepuff's cup, whereabouts unknown to all; Harry's award, which replaced Nagini and which was last known in Voldemort's possession; and the locket, which Albus is holding so they can attempt to remove the soul piece. Destroyed Horcruxes: diary, ring, tiara, and the accidental one inside Harry.

What is it with me and Clue references? It's like I can't stop myself.

Spells: 'Invenio' is the indexing spell from earlier in the story. Descendo (used phonetically as deh-SEN-doe) is from the Lexicon, it causes something to descend or lower itself.


	37. Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw

If I had a dollar for every time I said I didn't own Harry Potter I'd have … well, nothing, because technically I don't _say_ it, I _type_ it. I don't think the situation has ever come up where I've actually said it. It's not like we sit around the dinner table, talking about my kids' grades, and I suddenly blurt out "I don't own Harry Potter". I mean, they'd all look at me funny, wouldn't they? Not that there's anything unusual about _that_.

**.**

**.**

**Chapter 37. Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw**

Seeing Albus and Hermione working together so comfortably had left Harry more confused than ever. (Surely he wasn't _jealous_?) His concentration that afternoon was completely ruined, though thankfully Ginny was understanding. Understanding; but very, very unsatisfied.

It really wasn't a surprise two days later, he supposed, when Colin Creevey caught him on his way to the newly reopened library with a summons to see the Headmaster. Of course, to Colin it had seemed "really smashing" to be invited to the Headmaster's office. He'd been so excited for Harry he hadn't even noticed the older boy's reluctance.

That final staircase up to the office could have lasted a bit longer, Harry thought. Like another minute - or twenty. As it was, it hadn't given him nearly enough time to figure out what to say. _'I'm sorry? … I'm still angry? … Can I call you Dad?'_ It had been Ron who had forced Harry to admit, in his own mind at least, that that's how he thought of the man now. But to say it out loud … what if Albus didn't want that … what if Harry asked and Albus said no?

After shuffling into the office Harry stood awkwardly in front of the man's large desk internally debating how to begin the conversation.

"I try, Harry," a deep, sorrowful voice began, causing Harry to jerk his head up in surprise.

"I try to remember that I am not infallible; that I do not have all the answers." As he spoke, Albus motioned with his hand for Harry to take a seat. "Oh, I say it often enough … and I assure you that I know my failings far better than most others know their own. But sometimes … when I am certain that what I believe is best … I … forget."

Not understanding what prompted this confession, Harry could only sit and nod mutely.

Seeing that his message was lost, Albus carried on. "I am telling you this to garner your understanding and perhaps a bit of sympathy, so when I apologize for being a stubborn mule and discounting your opinion you will hopefully be more likely to believe my words. I had considered making those sad, sappy eyes but wasn't certain they would be noticeable with all these wrinkles."

Despite his best efforts to hang on to his anger, Harry's face cracked into a huge grin. Yet he stubbornly refused to say anything, not wanting to make it easier on his … guardian.

Albus, sensing that Harry was close to letting bygones be bygones, reached up and removed his glasses. Then he tipped his head down and slightly to the side, stuck his bottom lip out, and fluttered his eyelids.

"Are you … are you pouting?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes, I do believe that is my intent. Is it by chance working?" Albus asked.

"No," Harry replied; yet the laughter in his voice said otherwise.

Putting his glasses back on, Albus chuckled. "It never works for the countless students who have tried it on me over the years but I suppose I thought it would not hurt to try at this point." Leaning forward he continued, "But I hope my willingness to make a fool of myself has convinced you of my sincerity. I _am_ sorry I put my beliefs ahead of yours, Harry. Can you forgive me?"

And just like that … Harry could. Hadn't he forgiven Ron for much worse with much less of an apology? "Yeah, alright," he said, "but does that mean you've changed your mind?"

"It means I have finally remembered that, when dealing in theory, all opinions should be treaty equally until proven incorrect. As yours has not been I must allow you to continue your research – so long as it does not get in the way of schoolwork or other Voldemort-related activities."

Harry readily agreed and soon he was telling Albus about a book on bloodletting that sounded very promising, although he wasn't very excited about the prospect of having it done to himself.

"Understandable," Albus soothed. "Perhaps there is another option? The ritual says – if I recall - the phoenix and the basilisk in perfect balance, infused by the essence of the immortal, bound with the silk of the great acromantula, when willingly taken, the end of life brings the gift of mortality. It is that rather imprecise word Essence that is giving us such trouble. Whilst it is perhaps obvious to focus on blood to fulfill the 'essence' requirement, I remind you it is not the only thing –"

"If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting," Harry rushed to interrupt, "then you can forget it right now. I absolutely refuse to consider that Voldemort wanks. If it's even possible …I mean, he's got no nose … and they say …" Harry trailed off, turning that interesting mix of red, white and green Albus secretly called Deathly Grishwid.

Popping a chocolate into his mouth, Albus made a mental note to see if he could get the color legally recognized somehow.

-000-

The worst of the winter weather had passed. Small patches of dead grass could be seen through the remaining bits of dirty slush and between snow drifts that stubbornly refused to melt. It was one of those blustery days; the kind where you needed a jacket to protect yourself from the wind despite the bright sun. Perfect Quidditch weather, Harry mused, as he walked hand-in-hand with Ginny toward the spectator stands. It was Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw, which had been delayed due to repairs following the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Remembering that disastrous game, Harry was glad to be in the stands for this one, although he did plan to avoid the front row.

Gryffindor had already redeemed themselves by beating Hufflepuff by more than 200 points. They were now in the lead for the cup. Not much to brag about, Harry reminded his team at every practice, as the season was barely half over. But the pressure wasn't on him or his team today – today they got to sit back and enjoy the show.

And what a show it wasn't. Harry couldn't remember another game with so much action leading to so little scoring. Right away Hufflepuff took possession of the quaffle. Their Chaser zoomed forward … took aim … and dropped the ball. A few plays later, a Ravenclaw Chaser successfully dodged Hufflepuff's Keeper only to miss the rings by at least three feet.

"Can you believe he missed that shot? A baby coulda made that!" Ron was very enthusiastically pointing out every mistake either team made.

Poor aim certainly played its part in the lack of scoring, but so did the occasional bludger, a poorly swung beater's bat, and even a football-style kick (which Harry felt was the highlight of the game) of the quaffle by the Hufflepuff Seeker. The result was a score of 20 to 20 after more than an hour of play. Harry would never tell his chaser girlfriend but he was getting a bit bored. He was equally unimpressed by the seekers. He'd spotted the snitch twice already; one of those times only a broom's length from the new Ravenclaw Seeker.

With a deep sigh, he turned his attention away from the game.

"Bored, Harry?" Hermione asked with a knowing smirk. "We could always head to the library and get to work on our Potions assignment."

"No, no … bad Quidditch still beats Potions on its best day." As soon as the words left his mouth, he turned his attention toward Snape, almost expecting the man to have heard his comment.

Over in the adult section, he first spotted Professor Flitwick entertaining a small group of brightly dressed witches and wizards. And there, behind the woman in sky blue robes, was Snape. Thankfully, he wasn't spying on Harry. Instead, he was having a heated discussion with Minerva over the match (based on their pointing and other hand gestures) and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Since Albus wasn't at today's match there wasn't much else to hold his attention in that section, so he scanned the grounds. Several students, probably as bored to tears as he was, were trickling out of the stands.

"Look at that idiot, Harry … you'd think he was playing charades," Ginny called out, pointing to the Hufflepuff Keeper.

"Oh," Hermione piped up, "I think he's a swan."

After glancing over … "looks like a grindylow to me" … he scanned the student sections. He traded waves with Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones in Hufflepuff, Dierks Harper and his Slytherin girlfriend, and Dean Thomas, who was sitting with a pretty brunette amongst a group of Ravenclaws. A little behind Dean sat Luna – at least, he was pretty sure it was Luna; her face was blocked by a large body with its back to Harry. But for her last birthday, he and Ginny had given Luna a hat with an over-sized snitch tethered to it and he could see that snitch flying directly above this girl's head. And really, how many of those hat could there be?

Harry couldn't tell who was talking to Luna, which for some reason bothered him. He asked Ron if he recognized who it was but by the time Ron had found Luna in the crowd, her visitor was leaving … and he appeared to be dragging her along. (At least now he could see it was definitely her.)

Perhaps it was harmless; perhaps Luna suddenly had a new boyfriend that he didn't know anything about. He didn't exactly keep track of her love life, after all. But this didn't feel right to him. She was being pulled along like a trained puppy, for goodness sake.

Grabbing the Omnioculars from Ron's hand …(_"hey"_) … he zoomed in on her face – her calm, expressionless face. Alright, some might argue that's a normal look for her but in a sixth-sense sort of way, Harry knew something was wrong.

Ron yanked the Omnioculars out of his hand just as Luna began descending the stairs, not that Harry noticed. He was busy jumping from his seat. "Come on," he called out as he left so quickly they had no choice but to follow.

Once out of the stands, Harry paused to look for Luna which gave the rest a chance to catch up.

"What's up," Ron demanded. "Why did we leave, Harry?" Hermione asked at almost the same time.

"It's Luna," he replied, "didn't you see? Something's wrong. But where did she go?" Ignoring the others, he searched the path toward the school but couldn't find her among the other students.

"Wha—" someone began, only to be drown out by Harry exclaiming, "There she is!" He pointed toward their friend heading, not toward the castle, but across the open grass. Her large companion seemed to be leading the way. "But where's she going?"

"Looks like the Forbidden Forest," Ginny offered. "But I can't imagine why she'd go there."

Cupping his hands Harry shouted, "_Luna_!"

She paused; but didn't look back and didn't wait long before continuing on her way. Harry made to follow.

"Whoa there," Ron called out as he grabbed Harry's arm. "You aren't thinking of following her in there, are you?"

"But…"

"Spiders, Mate. And baby giants and deranged centaurs," Ron said, thinking it enough of an explanation. "If we're going to follow her in there," he motioned with his head toward the spot where Luna was stepping between trees, "we need to have some kind of plan. And not a 'follow the spiders' type of plan but a real plan."

"Ron," Harry tried to reason but his friend just shook his head. Between them, Hermione looked guilty as she, too, shook her head. Ginny wasn't any help, she wasn't even paying attention. She'd been trying to keep her eyes on Luna and had lost her in the trees, but appeared to be trying to see through the very trees themselves to track the girl.

It was a stalemate, and Harry hated those, so he gazed off at the tress as he furiously working up a plan in his mind. A loud, spine-tingling, hair-raising scream pierced the air, shattering the moment.

"I'm going in," Harry said with determination and before any of his friends could argue, he'd pointed his wand toward the castle. "_Expecto Patronum _… tell Seba ... Luna's in trouble in the forest – we're going after her."

With a quick dip of his head, Prongs turned and darted toward the castle.

"Here's the plan … put your wand in your hand and curse anything between us and Luna. Got it?"

Not waiting for a response, he turned toward the place where Luna had disappeared into the trees. A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Off to the left," Ginny pointed out, "you can just see her path. I'm going to get some professors – they're closer than Dumbledore – and someone needs to show them where you went. Be careful, alright?"

Nodding, he called over his shoulder, "McGonagall and Snape, Ginny," then he took off for the trees, trusting the other two to follow. Which of course they did. The trio slowed as they went further into the forest, partly because the ground cover was denser and they needed to watch their feet and not lose their path, but also because they were all aware that at some point they would run into trouble.

As it turned out, they walked into it. By this point Harry and Hermione were virtually side-by-side, with Ron a few steps behind doing what he called "covering our arses". A roughly oval area, cleared of everything but a few tree stumps and some broken branches and logs, opened up around Harry and Hermione so sharply they knew it had been camouflaged by magic. Once they'd taken their first steps into the clearing, and thus inside the charm, they were greeted with a sight they'd both feared and expected.

The first thing Harry noticed was the wand aimed right at his head, which stopped him in his tracks. Behind the wand was Theodore Nott, who stood directly across from him at what could be considered the top of the oval, smiling a nasty, toothy smile that one normally associated with goblins. A quick sweep of the area showed several other wands pointed in similar fashion.

Harry's wand, which was held out in front of him, stayed steady in his hand – as did Hermione's next to him, he was pleased to note – but he knew in this standoff timing would be as important as any spell.

Then his eyes fell to Luna and he couldn't stop himself from cussing under his breath. She was on her knees in the middle of the clearing, unarmed but definitely not unharmed. She looked as if she'd been tossed around then rolled through the muck. There were smears of dirt on her face, her clothes were wet and ripped in places, and her hair was tussled with clumps of rotted leaves in it. She was kneeling in a slushy puddle. A deep red spot that would likely turn into a bruise dominated her left cheek. Harry felt his blood boil and swore to himself they would pay if she had more serious injuries. Hell, they'd pay no matter what.

A light tapping on his back let Harry know that Ron was still behind them and was content to stay hidden in their shadows for now. Harry gave no indication he'd felt anything, instead concentrating on Nott's ugly face. Nott hadn't moved – his smile (disgusting though it was) didn't falter, his wand never wavered, he never even signaled any of his helpers. It would seem Nott hadn't noticed Ron's arrival, which gave team Gryffindor a secret weapon.

Which was a good thing, considering they were outnumbered.

A dirty sounding laugh, like a hyena come across easy prey, let Harry know that Nott was about to treat him to a Villainous Monologue. (He was starting to think maybe Malfoy _had_ left a play book behind.) Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he took careful stock of the enemy. If his side could be called Team Gryffindor, then it was only right to call the other side The Slytherins, for it was mostly made up of current and former members of that house. To Nott's immediate left – Harry's right – was Sixth Year Slytherin Jasper Dorny. Harry might not have recognized the younger boy, who was remarkably average and forgettable, except the dimwit was wearing monogrammed robes.

Next to him was a face Harry really hated to see – Marcus Flint. The bully had been a pain in his side long before he knew anything about Death Eaters and Unforgivables, but even then, if Harry had been asked to name one Slytherin he knew without a doubt would go bad, he'd have named Flint.

On the other side of the clearing was another former Slytherin, Welker or Willies or some such name, Harry recalled. Like Flint, he'd been out of school for a few years, and of course Harry was never actually been introduced to the boy, but he would never forget how the snot had relentlessly taunted him during Second Year. He would bump into Harry in the corridors and when he had Harry's attention, he'd wiggle his tongue at him and whisper "_Hhhhharry_" in a breathy voice that was supposed to sound snakelike, but to Harry had just been creepy and _wrong _coming from the pretty boy.

Beside Mister W. was a pudgy brunette dressed head to toe in black clothing. Harry had trouble placing her, although he was pretty sure she wasn't Slytherin. He knew he'd seen her neatly pleated hair with it's distinctive streaks of purple in the hallways, but beyond that he was at a loss.

"Oh, this was just too easy," Nott gleefully cackled, drawing back Harry's attention. "I have this great plan … a perfect plan … and here you are, practically hand delivered to me before it's even begun. I didn't even get to send my ransom note. And I put so much work into it, too."

"I'm sure you did," Hermione agreed, "checking the spelling alone probably took an hour."

"Shut it, Mudblood," he shouted back, whipping his wand to point at her instead of Harry. "You'll get yours when I'm done with Potty."

'_Oh yeah, most definitely Malfoy-influenced.'_

"So what's the ransom," Harry asked as he nudged Hermione with his foot, hoping she would get the hint to stop taunting the crazy man-child with the wand pointed at them.

"What's the ransom, he asks," Nott said to Dorny, who like a good minion joined him in laughing. "You, Potter. You're the ransom. I was going to offer to trade the little weirdo for you. See, I knew you'd go for it. 'Course, the note told you to come alone but since you didn't get to read it, we'll forgive you. Besides, I think Flint rather enjoys putting Mudbloods in their place, don't you Marcus?"

"Oh yeah," Flint eagerly replied.

"Keep it in your pants, Flint," the purple-hair girl spit out, looking rather disgusted at the older boy.

"And since we're all already here," Nott continued, "I don't even have to pretend to let her," he used his head to indicate Luna, "go. I promised Wilkes he could have a little fun with her after you're taken care of."

Harry briefly turned his attention back to their hostage. "Alright there, Luna?"

"Oh, don't worry about me, Harry," she calmly told him. "Mister Wilkes was a bit rough at first. I rather felt like I was being trampled by an army of clabberts. But it's not so bad now that you're here. It's such a novel experience to be considered important enough to be used as a hostage."

Something hardened in Harry's eyes as he considered how unfairly most people treated Luna.

She must have seen the change, for she actually smiled as she added, "and anyway, I've seen you fight real Death Eaters so I know you'll protect me from these children."

The slight, while unintentional on Luna's part, nonetheless hit a raw nerve in Flint and Wilkes, who were both marked Death Eaters – Harry could even see part of the Dark Mark on Wilkes arm where his sleeve had ridden up. It was only their arrogance and perhaps stupidity that had kept them from wearing the masks that announced their allegiance while hiding their identity.

"Drop the wand, Potter," Nott ordered, "and move to the middle and get on your knees. You let us tie you up nice and tight for your visit with the Dark Lord and we'll let the girls go."

Harry ignored Hermione's gasp as she realized they meant to send Harry to Voldemort _right now_. "You know," he shot back as he tightened his grip on his wand and subtly aimed it, "if you wanted me to believe that, you probably shouldn't have told me you planned on letting your friends have fun with them. _Diffindo!_"

Nott and his cohorts flinched (Dorny even ducked), each worried the spell was aimed at them.

But it wasn't. A heavy branch that stretched over the heads of Wilkes and the unnamed girl was cut free from its tree and dropped straight down. Purple-and-Black Girl jumped back and was only knocked to her bum by the smaller limbs, but Wilkes had hesitated and found himself flat on his back, pinned under a jumble of wooden arms. His plainly carved wooden wand was easily lost amid the many branches and twigs.

Unfortunately, the impending fight didn't wait for the branch to finish its fall. Those that weren't under the branch quickly realized they weren't in danger, and before it hit the ground a mix of offensive spells - from "Stupefy" to "Crucio" and anything in between - rang across the clearing.

Ron moved out from behind Harry to attack Flint, using a new favorite of his. "Percussum," he bellowed, and Flint doubled over as if he'd been punched in the gut.

Hermione targeted Nott, who in turn was aiming for Harry.

Dorny, who didn't have any battle experience, panicked and called out the first spell he could think of – "Accio". It was an odd choice, and he hadn't even specified a target, but his wand had been pointed toward Harry and so that's where the spell went. But, as Hermione could have explained to him, intent is one of the keys of proper spell casting. Lack of a true, named target meant the spell was much weaker than it could have been. Weak enough, in fact, that it did nothing more than yank Harry forward a step, where he staggered to regain his footing.

Luckily, Nott's Cruciatus passed straight through the space where Harry had just been standing, instead banging into a tree and knocking off some bark.

Hermione's spell hit Nott at the same moment his spell was missing Harry and he fell sideways to the ground, his legs bound in ropes from thigh to ankle.

"I wouldn't, Sally-Ann," Hermione shouted, turning her wand on the formerly unnamed girl who had climbed back to her feet.

Sally-Ann had been about to curse Harry. The millisecond of attention she turned toward Hermione was all Harry needed. "Reducto," he shouted, aiming for her knee. He cringed as he thought of the damage the spell would do but the time of playing nice had long passed. "Expelliarmus," he added as he heard her scream and her wand quickly flew toward him.

By this point Dorny had convinced himself he had the nerve after all and he aimed his wand at Harry's robes. He sent a burst of bluebell flames, but his nervous trembling made the spell go wide and instead of hitting Harry it went toward Hermione's legs, making her do a funky hop to avoid the flames.

Unnoticed to everyone else, Ron, with the heart of a Gryffindor, and Flint, the epitome of Slytherin, had taken their fight so much to heart that they'd moved out of the clearing and into the nearby trees, completely forgetting the rest of the combatants. What Ron lacked in spell arsenal he made up for with his superior hit-and-hide strategy, so it was an even match.

As soon as Harry had called out his summoning spell, he turned his attention from the downed Sally-Ann to Dorny; he didn't even notice Sally-Ann's wand ricochet off his shoulder. "Give it up," he offered the Sixth Year. "I can tell you don't really want to be a part of this."

Before Dorny could answer, a jet of pink light slammed into Harry's chest and knocked him into a nearby tree. He felt pain in his ribs … felt his back brush against the rough bark … felt his head smack into the hard wood … then there was true pain and flashing lights and a rushing sound … and everything turned blurry and dark as he dropped to the ground.

His wand was miraculously still clutched in his hand and he held it up in front of his face in wonder. He squinted his eyes and stared at the wand as he tried to think of a spell ... any spell ... but not a single one came to mind.

As Harry contemplated the utter uselessness of his wand Luna was covertly snatching up Sally-Ann's forgotten wand. Armed, she rolled toward the edge of the clearing where Ron and Flint had disappeared. Her move was missed by everyone else.

"Grab him," a voice barked, and Harry felt himself become the rope in a human game of tug-of-war as Hermione grabbed his right arm while Wilkes, fresh from his splintery prison, yanked on the left. His fuzzy brain screamed at him to hold onto his wand and he complied, thinking it might come in handy at some point.

"I'm gonna beat the snot out of you before I send you to my Lord, Potter," Nott sneered as he dropped his wand to his side and started strutting forward.

Luna chose that moment to try putting Nott in a Full Body-Bind, but not having a good match with the found wand, it did little more than trip up the big Slytherin.

Whipping his wand toward her viciously, he snarled, "_Sectumsempra_!"

Then several things happened as if in slow motion, at least to Harry's addled mind. Harry, who had finally remembered a spell but didn't think Lumos would be of any use, saw Nott's curse speed toward Luna … Hermione aimed and shouted "Protego" … Nott began to laugh so hard he snorted as spell beat Hermione's … a flash of light cut a wide path down the length of Luna's left leg … "oh," squeaked little Jasper Dorny as he watched Luna's blood flow to the ground … having diverted her attention, Hermione lost her grip on Harry … but Wilkes was still pulling and without the counter-weight Harry sprung toward the Death Eater, landing chest to chest as the sudden shift in pressure caused Wilkes to lose his balance and fall backward.

Harry had landed in a peculiar way, with his wand hand braced on the ground next to Wilkes chest. As luck would have it, the wand's tip was touching Wilkes armpit, and even better the handle was still in his fist. "Rictusempra," he triumphantly cried, having finally remembered a second spell. The body beneath him began to shake uncontrollably with laughter and Harry rolled off.

"Rennervate," Hermione muttered from off to his side, causing Harry to feel like he was waking from a heavy sleep as his mind cleared, even if the pain didn't completely let up. And not a moment too soon, as a cloud of dust erupted just to Harry's side, reminding him that Nott was still after him.

Several loud bangs and shouts from the forest got everyone's attention, and Nott screeched, "Piss … we're about to get company. Just grab him and go."

Harry's response was as quick as it was decisive. He jumped back, away from Wilkes' reach so any portkey the Death Eater might have couldn't be used on him. Then he kicked dirt in the boy's face for good measure.

Pulling himself onto shaky legs, Harry realized the sounds carrying from outside their protected battlefield were coming from several directions. The teachers must have joined Ron in his fight against Flint. "WE'RE HERE!" he shouted as he dodged Nott's next spell - another unforgivable by the color of it.

By this time, the remaining combatants were scattered around the clearing; banged and bruised but still determined (Wilkes had even stopped laughing). For a few seconds an uncanny silence fell as they stood glaring at each other ... and then another volley of spells flew as the remaining Slytherins – Nott, Wilkes, and to a much lesser degree Dorny – attempted to subdue the two remaining Gryffindors – Harry and Hermione. The soot and smoke (thanks to Dorny's sorry attempt at Fiendfyre) was just starting to clear when a new figure entered the clearing from behind Harry's position.

Recognition sparked in Nott's eyes and he flashed another toothy grin, positive that help had indeed arrived - but for his side.

Snape coolly took in the situation. Potter was standing in front of him, back to him, and the over-confident child hadn't even looked to see who had arrived. Granger had spotted him and felt safe enough to drop to her knees to tend someone. Dorny, the eager to please, easy to influence, how-did-he-ever-land-in-Slytherin Sixth Year, was outside the combat area, waving his oddly smoking wand from Potter to Granger and back again. Effeminate Oswald Wilkes was trying to prove himself a man by attacking school children. The boy's wand had been pointed at Potter, but with a smirk and a nod in Snape's direction, he let it drop to his side.

Nott noticed, just a second before the spell left Snape's wand, that it wasn't directed at Harry. As Wilkes was tossed against a tree, where he stuck like gum on a sidewalk, Nott thurst his wand forward and shouted.

"Ava—" ...

"Re—" countered Hermione, now aiming for Nott ...

Harry knew what was coming, and he couldn't tell if it was aimed at him or the new arrival – Snape, he assumed – but it didn't matter. Looking around wildly, he chose his target ...

"—da Ked—" ...

"—ducto!" ...

_Flick_ and _swish_ went Harry's wand ...

"—avra …" ...

A curst of green light left Nott's wand at the same time a tree stump flew into the light's path ...

"... you tra—" ... the rest became a meaningless gurgle as the side of Nott's throat was blown away by Hermione's spell. A milisecond later the tree stump exploded, shooting shards of wood back toward Harry's side of the clearing.

Dorny dropped his wand in shock, then joined it on the ground as he fainted dead away.

Hermione dropped her wand in horror, unable to take her eyes away from the sight of Nott falling lifelessly to the ground.

Harry flinched and threw his arm up as the shrapnel came toward him. To his surprise it hit an invisible wall and fell harmlessly to the ground.

Wilkes wasn't as lucky. After all, no one stood behind him, ready to protect him from his own folly. Several slivers of wood pierced his skin – his cheek, neck, and even forehead – but far worse was a piece of wood the width of a finger that lodged itself in his right eye.

"Why is it, Potter," Snape asked in a bored tone, "that every time you wander off we find a pile of bleeding Death Eaters in your wake?"

Spinning to look at his professor (and hoping Snape didn't notice him wobble as he did so) he grinned as he answered, "just a talent, I guess … a power, you might call it."

Before Snape could reply another figure entered the area, his purple robes standing out amongst the greens and browns of the forest. "Ah, I see you already have the hooligans rounded up," Albus said, lowering his wand. "Excellent, boys … now what say we sort out the injured so I can send them ahead to the Hospital Wing?" If Snape noticed Albus' critical eye checking Harry over a bit longer than the others, he didn't mention it.

"Luna's lost quite a bit of blood, Professor," Hermione called from next to the whimpering Ravenclaw.

"There's a girl –" Harry began.

"Sally-Ann Perks," Hermione interrupted.

"Behind that large branch," he continued. "Her leg's probably shattered beyond repair. What you see is what you've got with _that_ guy." He pointed to Wilkes, who had passed out but was still stuck to the tree, his left eye shut tight but the right half open due to the stick poking out of it. "I don't think there's much you can do for Nott," he softly added, casting a worried glance toward Hermione, who kept glancing toward the unmoving body.

In short order, Albus had Wilkes unstuck from his tree and Perks out from behind her branch. Snape grabbed hold of Luna and Perks and with a forked tree branch supplied by Albus, the three took a Portkey shortcut to the Hospital Wing.

When they were safely away, Albus turned to Harry, "You'll be relieved to know that your friend Ronald is unharmed for the most part, resting on a bench a few yards from here. We shall meet up with him on our way back to the school. Now, let us prepare the rest for our journey."

With that, Albus turned his attention to the Sixth Year boy lying on the ground. Jasper Dorny was in over his head; of this Harry was certain. The boy had been woefully unprepared for a real battle - he'd hesitated, he'd frozen in panic, he'd been ineffective at every turn … and then, at the most critical moment, he'd fainted. Looking down, Harry could clearly see the boy was no longer unconscious, even thought he was trying his best to appear to be.

"We'll need to wake him, I think," Albus told Harry in a suspiciously chipper voice. "_Aguamenti_."

A stream of cold water splattered right into Dorny's face, causing him to yelp in surprise as he jumped up.

"Awake now, I see," Albus said, giving the boy his full attention. "I hope I can trust you to behave yourself on our stroll to the castle."

"Ye-yes Sir," the boy stammered out.

"Excellent. Please remain where you are until it is time to leave. Oh, and I think it would be best for me to hold on to your wand for the time being, don't you?"

Harry wasn't the least bit surprised to see Albus was already holding the boy's wand casually in his left hand.

"Y-y- yeah … I mean yes. Sir," Dorny agreed in a terrified voice.

When Albus turned briefly in Harry's direction, he understood. Albus' normally happy eyes were as cold and hard as an acromantula's on a good day. Snape would be so jealous. And though Harry couldn't pin-point where it came from, and could never satisfactorily describe it to anyone, there was a certain feeling of power radiating from the man. With all that directed at him, Harry was surprised Dorny hadn't pissed himself.

As Harry surreptitiously checked the front of the Slytherin's robes for wet spots, Albus was on one knee confirming what Harry (and Hermione, he was certain) already knew – Nott was dead. Albus reached up and closed the dead boy's eyes, then tapped his chest with his wand, causing the body of Theodore Nott to flicker once then disappear. Harry didn't even care enough to ask where it had gone.

Oswald Wilkes was a different story. Albus turned a pile of wet leaves into a stretcher which he placed the boy upon. Even injured, Albus must have considered him more a threat than Dorny, for he conjured ropes and tightly secured the Death Eater to the stretcher. "Such potential … such waste," he muttered to himself as he looked down on the pin-cushioned face.

When the odd assortment of weary students, subdued criminals, and a whistling Headmaster left the area, it didn't take them long to cross paths with Ron.

"Mc – er – the Professor took Flint to the school, Sir," he said from his seat on the fancy wooden bench with a soft floral cushion Albus had to have made for him.

Harry, who was partially supporting Hermione, stopped and looked his friend over carefully. Ron had been sitting forward, with his legs wide apart and his elbows on his knees. His head had been bent down and he was breathing deeply. He'd lifted his head to speak to Albus, revealing a strange orangish-red spot near the base of his neck and several claw-like scratches on his left cheek. His hair was messed in every direction and there was a large rip in his jeans near his right knee, but his eyes were bright and merry and he was sporting a huge smile, leading Harry to surmise that Ron had won his battle.

With a sleepy sounding groan Ron stood and moved over to Hermione's other side, allowing her to lean onto him for support. As they started moving again, Harry let his arm drop away from Hermione, but he stayed close in case Ron needed help with her.

Leaning behind her, Ron gave Harry the universal 'I don't understand' look, so Harry rushed to explain. "Hermione saved me, Ron. Nott was shouting out the Killing Curse and she stopped him."

"I _killed him_," she wailed, and Harry's heart gave a painful lurch as he spotted the tears falling down her cheek.

"No! You stopped him," he rather forcefully told her.

"It was only a Reductor Curse," Hermione continued without acknowledging Harry's comment. "Like the one Harry used on Sally-Ann … I was aiming for his wand hand, but he moved, and I … it hit him in the neck." She sniffled before adding, "Snape said it was a clean kill. Like that's a good thing."

Ron, not having a clue what to do, leaned his head back and looked to Harry for help.

Had the situation not been so serious, Harry would have laughed – Ron was looking to him for advice on handling crying girls. Discretely lifting his arm, he moved his hand in slow circles until Ron finally figured it out and moved his own hand up to Hermione's back, where he began rubbing gentle circles. He even lowered his head to whisper things like "it'll be alright" and "there, there" and once Harry was certain he heard, although Ron had said it even quieter than the rest so he couldn't be sure, "I've got you".

As they neared the edge of the forest, an anxious Ginny shrieked and threw herself at Harry. Giving her a great hug, he kissed the top of her head.

"Only you, Harry," she said into his chest, "could go to watch a simple House Quidditch match and end up fighting Death Eaters."

Chuckling, he pulled back a bit so he could see her. "You know, Snape said something similar."

"Oh pish – don't even joke about me being anything like Snape."

"Not even close – you're prettier and nicer and much more kissable." And with a quick peck to prove his point, he started walking again, using the arm that was still around her shoulder to guide her along. Emerging from the trees, he glanced past the parade of people ahead of him toward their destination. "Speaking of Snape, though, I'm glad he got there when he did. I didn't think anyone would find us that fast."

"Well … I might have had something to do with that," she said in a teasing voice. "As you went running toward trouble, I put a Beacon Charm on you. The Professors were able to track you using the Ray-dahr Chant. When Dumbledore showed up, I started to explain, but he just waved me off and said 'I have my own way of finding him, Ginny' – you know, it's still weird to have him call me Ginny instead of Ginevra – anyway, then he told me to stay put and marched right in with his wand held above his head, and for just a second I thought 'well shite'. He can be right scary when he wants."

"Don't I know it," Harry agreed, having seen that sight a time or two himself.

They walked in silence for a spell before Harry remembered something that had puzzled him earlier, but since the middle of a battle wasn't the proper time to pick Hermione's brain, he'd brushed it aside. "Ginny, do you know who Sally-Ann Perks is? She was one of the ones helping Nott. She looked familiar but I can't place her."

"Oh, she was there? Hmm … I guess that's not too surprising. I doubt she's a true Death Eater though. More like, if it'll tick off Mummy and Daddy she'll do it, and I imagine helping Death Eaters would upset most families with Muggle backgrounds."

"Yeah, but who _is_ she?"

"She's in my year. Well, at least, now she is. She actually started in your year."

Harry tipped his head to the side as he vaguely recalled a little girl getting called up to be sorted just before him. It was hard to remember clearly - he was focused on other things at the time - but he thought he remembered her as energetic (annoyingly so, considering his nerves) and blonde. With a shake of his head, he sighed. "Nah, that can't've been her. She was a bubbly little blonde. This girl was all serious and depressing and had dark hair with purple stripes in it."

"That's Sally-Ann, alright. You probably wouldn't have noticed with everything else happening my First Year but she got really sick. Bad case of spattergroit right after Halloween. She had to go to St. Mungo's – missed the rest of the year and a few weeks of the next, too, I think. Only, instead of hiring tutors for her, like Colin's family did, hers decided to have her repeat the year. I hear she was very unhappy to be held back. She felt like she'd lost all her friends and blamed her parents for ruining her life. Two years ago she started to seriously rebel, which explains the strange hair, the attitude, and the Slytherin crowd. But you shouldn't feel bad. I wouldn't know any of this myself I didn't have classes with her and her gossipy roommates."

Harry spent the rest of the walk trying to recall everything he knew about his former year-mate. By the time he realized it amounted to very little he found himself standing just inside the Hospital Wing. _'teach me to not pay attention'_ He very briefly considered backing slowly from the room and making a run for it but Madam Pomfrey had already spotted him and with an icy glare froze him to the spot.

"This one's uninjured but in need of massive calming draughts, Poppy," Albus was explaining to her as he gestured toward Dorny. "If you would point me in the proper direction, I believe I can handle it for you so you can concentrate on the more immediate needs."

Harry allowed himself to be guided toward a bed as he watched Albus maneuver the Slytherin (who seemed completely unaware of anything around him). Giving the bed a dirty look, he sat down on its edge with Ginny at his side.

Looking around the room, Harry spotted a team from St. Mungo's twittering in and out of a partitioned area. He figured they were working on Sally-Ann since he could see Luna resting in a bed a few down from him. Minerva was standing near Hermione, saying something in a voice too soft to be heard, but both Hermione and Ron (whose arm was still around her shoulders) were nodding along.

"Somehow, I doubt he'll be found competent to stand trial," Ginny said in his ear, getting his attention and pointing to the boy Albus was tucking into bed.

"Probably scared straight, anyway" Harry agreed. "I doubt he'll so much as cheat on homework after this."

The two continued to sit on the bed and chatter about nothing in particular as the others were slowly mended by the nurse and Ron drifted to sleep in a chair next to Hermione's bed until finally Harry was the only one needing attention.

Albus was standing near the doors talking to the Aurors that had come to collect Flint and Wilkes, but Harry could feel his guardian watching him as the nurse approached.

She stopped just in front of him with her arms crossed, saying nothing until Harry turned his head up and looked at her.

"I suppose you'll tell me you aren't hurt," she said, for it wasn't really a question – they both knew it was true.

"I am fine," he said with a firm nod of his head to show her how serious he was. But it was only one quick nod, because whatever Hermione had done to him in the forest was wearing off, making his head pound ten times harder and causing his vision to misbehave. A small, perhaps more reasonable, part of him knew he should mention it, but ... he _really_ didn't want to stay the night in the Infirmary.

"_Hmpf_ … so you didn't get hit by any spells out there today?"

It was odd, Harry thought, how much she resembled Snape when she arched her eyebrows and looked down at him with_ that_ look in her eyes. Even Ginny gulped.

"N-nothing too serious. I'm fine, I swear."

With a sigh – one of those long suffering sighs that signal one has reached some kind of resolve – she glanced briefly at Albus before saying, "Very well, Mister Potter. I will make you a deal." With her wand, she summoned something brown and fuzzy and held it out to him. "If you can hold this stuffed bear with both of your hands and look into his eyes, count to 15, and then correctly tell me what color the eyes are, you may leave."

That sounded incredibly easy. "Deal," he said, reaching for the bear.

"Harry, no—" Ginny began to say, but Harry already had the bear in his hands. It seemed to be a normal Muggle toy. It was light brown with big button eyes, a nose of black thread, and soft pads of felt on its hands and feet. Thinking he should do this properly, he stared hard into its eyes and counted out loud, "one … two … three…"

Unseen in front of him, Pomfrey's face had lost its sternness as she seemed to be fighting to keep a smile from her face. Ginny noticed; and when she looked behind her, Albus was openly grinning, his eyes twinkling as they often did when he was feeling merry.

"… fifteen!" Looking up Harry proudly announced, "its eyes are purple," knowing he was as good as dismissed.

"Miss Weasley, you'll have to move so Mister Potter can get into the bed properly," Pomfrey said as she took back the stuffed bear, which Harry hadn't noticed was now sporting spots of purple and pink in its fur.

"What? No … I said purple. I'm right, aren't I?" Harry whined as Ginny hopped from the bed. He'd lurched forward and tried to grab her arm to keep her in place, but missed by an inch and his brain swam around in his head for the effort.

"Concussions are not to be ignored, Mister Potter. A couple of potions and a nice cold soak and you should be fine by morning," the nurse explained. "I'll leave Miss Weasley to explain while I get your potions."

Over the sound of his snickering guardian, Ginny explained. "It's the bear, you silly boy. It's what parents use on small children who can't tell them what's wrong. You hold the bear for fifteen seconds and where ever you're injured or sick, those same spots on the bear change color. Different colors for different things. I only know green for infection and purple for bruises. The eyes turned purple, so I guess that means the bruise is inside your head."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," she agreed with a giggle. "I tried to stop you. Wait till the twins hear you fell for the Sicky Sammy Bear."

"Perhaps we can hold off informing them until Harry himself can see the humor in the situation," Albus added, momentarily saving Harry's ego while reminding the teens they were not alone.

The loud noise of a group entering the infirmary caught everyone's attention, and Harry turned to see two Hufflepuff's hoisting one of their Quidditch players between them. "Madam Pomfrey! Mylor tripped after landing and we think he's broken his foot," one of them called out.

Harry felt his mouth drop open. He'd completely forgotten there was still a Quidditch game going on outside.

Unceremoniously slamming a sparking goblet into Harry's hand, the nurse hastened over to the groaning and moaning boy. Inspecting his potion suspiciously, Harry listened as the boy gave a decidedly loud cry of pain as he settled his injured foot onto a pillow. "Whiner," he muttered as he brought the foul smelling brew to his lips.

Mylor's friends were standing back, watching with funny faces as Mylor begged the nurse to promise to save his foot. While Harry changed into his pajamas Ginny wandered over to get an update on the game.

For everyone who had attended the game that day, it was laughingly referred to as the Lamest Game Ever. It had lasted nearly six hours and had a dismal final score of 90 for Ravenclaw and 250 for Hufflepuff. Many of the spectators were heard complaining they wished they could just forget the game. But for Harry and his friends, Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw would always be a game they remembered.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** I hope nobody minded the appearance of Sally-Ann Perks. I never set out to solve her mystery, but when I needed a student to fight with Nott, I was cruisin' the Lexicon and found her name. Her mystery made her very easy to work in, rebelling attitude and all.

Clabberts are from Fantastic Beasts. Not everything Luna references is unknown to wizardkind.

Note about 'rennervate' – Rowling originally used 'ennervate' as the spell to wake someone who's been stupefied. She later corrected it to 'rennervate', but I still use 'ennervate' since this is what was printed in my edition of GOF and it is what is most common in fanon. So when I needed a spell that would clear (or awaken) a muddled mind, I decided it was a good fit and it would give me bonus points with the purists. You should know that when used in this fashion its results are only temporary, as the injury that caused the confusion is still there.

Percussum – Latin for 'to strike hard'; it's a spell that feels like you're being punched by a fist. Think magical fist fight, because snobs (like Malfoy) would never resort to fighting with their hands.


	38. Fishing

Instead of my normal bit about not owning anything worth millions of dollars, I'm pointing out that I did not kill Luna in the last chapter. I spared her life even though, in my story outline, she was supposed to die. Just pointing out my kind-heartedness …

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**Chapter 38. Fishing**

In near-record speed following the match, several new rules were posted throughout the castle, most of which Harry remembered from his Third Year. So much so that he felt justified in only paying cursory attention as Albus addressed the student body the next day. Quidditch players must be escorted to and from the field by a professor – check. The Great Hall will stay open until curfew so students have a safe place to visit with friends from other houses – check.

When Albus paused dramatically, however, Harry knew it was time to tune in. Everyone must have shared that opinion, for the room fell as silent as a room full of curious children can fall.

"I want to be very clear," Albus started in a voice that was low and hard, making each word sound that much more important. "Voldemort is powerful, yes; but his power comes at a horrific price. He uses the darkest of magics … it taints his soul, corrupts his mind, and ravishes his flesh. His path is neither righteous nor just. It can only lead to darkness and destruction … not only for his named enemies, but for all Wizardkind. Where now he targets the Muggle-borns," and his eyes briefly flitted toward Hermione at the Gryffindor table and Kevin Entwhistle with the Ravenclaws, "when they are gone – and I do mean gone, for he intends nothing less than their total extermination – where will he turn next?

"Will it be those with physical defects, who cannot see or have trouble moving about? Will he target the infirmed, claiming that they are using up our valuable resources? Perhaps he shall decide that squibs are the result of faulty breeding and he will order the extermination of any line that produces one." He made eye contact with Jasper Meeks, whose older brother Jareth was never spoken of, for he hadn't had the magic required to be invited to Hogwarts.

"Do you see how this works? Do you see the true danger? _It is not Voldemort!_ He will be defeated eventually, for his kind of magic … his kind of power … is not sustainable. But what will he leave behind? A society scarred to the point it no longer functions … so divided it can never work cohesively again … so fragmented it ceases to exist?

"I can assure you all of one truth: magic is magic. It is nothing more and certainly nothing less. It does not come from the blood; it simply is. So why would one's heritage matter? Cannot the purest of families produce a squib? And cannot the commonest Muggles produce a powerful witch or wizard?"

Albus paused and gave Harry what felt like an apologetic look. "Harry Potter is a so-called half-blood. His mother was a Muggle-born witch. Yet he is a power to be reckoned with, as Theodore Nott and his cohorts learned yesterday. I myself am a half-blood," – the room filled with gasps and shouts of surprise but he ignored them and continued on – "for my mother, like Mister Potter's, was a Muggle-born witch … and I dare say very few of you consider me a weak wizard, magically speaking. And Tom Riddle is a half-blood. In fact, he is more a half-blood (if one can be such a thing) than either Mister Potter or myself, for it is his own father that was the Muggle."

Again, the room filled with murmurs of students, this time accompanied by many shifty looks in both his and Harry's directions.

Albus paid it no attention, though his voice became more forceful as he continued. "I ask those of you who have listened to Voldemort's whispered words … who have found yourself believing his seductive promises and platitudes … which of us three is the most worthy of your support?" He paused a moment to slowly scan the room, making several students squirm in their seats or turn their heads down. "In a moment you will be excused to spend your day in leisure. I only ask that you take a moment or two to consider my words.

"And now, one last announcement. This morning, Minister Bluestreak received the blessing of our Board of Governors to have the entire population of this castle checked for the Dark Mark. All students would do well to be in their appointed Common Rooms promptly at curfew, where a team of Aurors will take roll and check your arms. It is my deepest desire that their search be in vain."

The hushed buzzing that had been drifting across the room just seconds ago immediately stopped at this pronouncement, flooding the room in silence. Albus paid it no mind as he turned to walk back to his seat, the _clink-scrap_ of his old-fashioned shoes practically echoing through the room.

Harry arose from his seat and stood, closemouthed and straight-backed, earning strange looks from his friends, who in turn caught the attention of several others around them until a majority of the students were watching the standing Harry instead of the sitting Headmaster.

With much flourish and flair – _'finally, I used something I learned from Lockhart'_ – Harry removed first his left robe sleeve, then his right, leaving two unblemished arms for all to see. A heartbeat later, Ron and surprisingly enough Dean had joined him in his display … followed by Hermione and Ginny and Colin and Dennis and Quidditch player Demelza and even a little dark-haired girl that had to stand on a bench to be seen.

It spread across the Hall, sleeves randomly disappearing from all four tables, much to the surprise of many. Granted, the number at the Slytherin table was significantly smaller – the Minister's grandson Dierks Harper and his friends the largest group there – but Harry understood that for some, a proudly-exposed arm was more dangerous than a covered one.

In all, more than a third of the students joined in Harry's display. With a nod of appreciation toward his boy, Albus waved his hand to open the doors, allowing his students to leave. It was hard to tell over the loud noises what was going to be the gossip of the day: Albus' moving speech, Harry's defiant display, or that strange little half-suggestion the Headmaster made that they should all know someone named Tom Riddle.

Later that night, after every last Gryffindor had been checked and cleared by the Aurors, Harry snuck out of the tower and headed for home to hear how the other Houses fared.

"You should be in your dorm, Harry," Albus said in lieu of greeting. "I certainly hope none of your classmates are aware you have left."

"I use it well," was his cheeky reply as he held up the corner of his invisibility cloak.

"Hmm, too well, I'm starting to think."

"Gryffindor's clean," Harry said, ignoring Albus' comment. "Are they done checking the others?"

"I have not received the final reports but Severus sent a note earlier that all of his students were present, so I took that as a good sign."

Plopping into a cushy chair, Harry asked, "You don't really expect them to find anything, do you?"

"I suspect that on his best day, Tom considers using students a necessary evil – if you'll excuse the pun. They are notoriously ineffective and unreliable, as Mister Malfoy proved just last year. No doubt, he considers himself the exception to the rule. I would guess that he only marked Mister Nott out of necessity, and as we know Mister Malfoy was marked as a punishment to his father. It is unlikely that any other student would have earned such an honor."

Albus' prediction proved true, as Harry had known it would, and soon the excitement of the 'desleeving', as the students took to calling it, died down. The new restrictions quickly became habit and grumblings over them slacked off considerably. Even gossip over Albus' stirring speech had faded, except for one small part – the identity of Tom Riddle.

A few of the braver students had asked Harry what he knew, but after the first two students hadn't believed his answer, he started getting a bit belligerent . "Let me think … maybe … VOLDEMORT!" was how he'd phrased it to a bunch of mini Hufflepuffs, one of whom walked away in tears. "Well, the Headmaster mentioned three names and there are three key players in this war. Dumbledore is Dumbledore, Potter is Potter, so Riddle must be …" He hadn't finished his sentence that time, confident the three Ravenclaws could figure it out on their own.

The last straw had been when a couple of Fifth Year Slytherins accosted him outside the Great Hall thinking they could intimidate him into recanting. In a huff – and fully aware of the dozens of other students watching – Harry pulled his wand and used Riddle's own trick to spell out 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' in the air. He hadn't quite mastered the spell that rearranged the words so he was forced to then point out, letter by letter, how they would spell 'I am Lord Voldemort'.

It might not have been as dramatic but it had finally been enough. Students seemed to accept that Riddle and Voldemort were one in the same. Unfortunately, the vast majority (even among the Muggle-borns) refused to believe the rest; namely, that Riddle was a half blood. After all, as Hermione pointed out, "student records are private and none of the public records reference blood status, so there's no way to prove the claim short of finding his birth record, and even that won't convince many."

If anything, the Riddle-is-Voldemort revelation seemed to bolster some of the darker-leaning students, who could be heard reasoning that Riddle having been a top student somehow justified their idolization of his alter ego.

Many times Harry felt like his head would explode from all the conflicting information being passed about. Yes, the truth was out there; but as often as not it was buried in the middle of just as much codswallop. Harry very much would have liked Hermione's help dealing with all this but ever since the Quidditch attack (ever since Nott's death, to be honest) she'd lost a bit of her confidence and seemed sad and remote. It was glaringly obvious when she spoke in class, offering one or two word answers instead of her usual vomit of knowledge.

Ron overcompensated by constantly trying to lift her spirits, mostly with gag items from the twins or old jokes that were, truth be told, rather unfunny. Harry could tell Ron wanted him to join in but he felt what she really needed was time to process things at her own pace. So instead, he reminded her he was always available to talk and he gave her the occasional hug and he watched, vowing to himself that if she buried herself in her emotions too deeply he'd be ready to put a shovel in her hand and teach her how to dig.

It was the last part of March before Hermione started to show signs of her old self, and predictably it came at Harry's expense when school gossip turned to a new topic: practically naked, fully animated photos of a dripping wet Harry were floating around the castle. They were forgeries, of course, but flawlessly made so that, since he wouldn't prove he didn't have a mole_ there_, no one believed him.

Harry alternated between furious and mortified over the mess, the latter winning out when Luna approached him during breakfast for an autograph. Mouth twitching as she fought off a grin, Hermione promised to search the library for a charm that would unravel the photographic forgery. Secretly, Harry knew Albus had Flitwick working on it, but he was thankful that she was trying. It was nice to see the real Hermione peeking through.

Minerva kept him after Transfiguration the next day, supposedly to berate him for whispering during her lecture. In reality, she wanted him to know that the culprit had been identified (and would have detention for a month) but that she and Albus both believed that any action on their part to confiscate or ban the photos would only make them more popular. Given how popular they already were, Harry gave her a dubious look as he thanked her for the information. She smiled back and gave him a supportive pat on the back before she taking five points for talking during class and sending him on his way.

His pessimism, it turned out, was not exaggerated. When he came down to the common room on Sunday morning to find one of the photographs had been enlarged life-size and stuck on the wall, he decided today was a good day to spend in hiding. Skipping breakfast, he headed for the family quarters where Albus later found him lounging on the couch practicing Transfiguration while Uncle Abe offered suggestions worthy of a thirteen-year-old – "You've got to grip your wand firmly and give it a good yank," being the cleanest.

Harry had "mastered his wand" (Abe's words, not his) and finished his Arithmancy essay on the secret uses of fractions when a house-elf popped in with a tray of refreshments. Albus waved off an offered cup; he was sitting in his favorite chair lost in a thick pile of parchments he'd received from the International Confederation of Wizards. Harry didn't offer anything to Abe, as he was now lightly snoozing, a copy of _Witchy Witches_ magazine half-fallen off his lap.

Harry absently munched a peanut butter biscuit as he watched the man sleep, his mind lost in thought. Earlier in the week, unbeknownst to the student body, something far worse than fake pictures had occurred. Abe had reached another milestone in his disease, leaving him surly enough that Snape seemed positively sunny in comparison.

A loud snort from said Uncle brought Harry back to himself.

Deciding watching his uncle was a pretty sorry way to spend his time, Harry shoved the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and reached for his bag. Stuffed in the very bottom he found his latest paperback novel, its dingy blue cover masking its true identity – the dramatically titled "If My Soul I Give To You". He'd last read it to kill time in the infirmary but after his fight with Albus, he hadn't been in the mood for the cheesy novel. But today, it might be just the distraction he needed.

Shifting so he was comfortably spread out on the couch, he found his place. If he remembered correctly, the heroine Veronica had just fallen into a pond, miraculously ripping her clothes to shreds in the process. With a quick glance at Albus (who had his nose buried in parchment) and Abe (who's nose was softly whistling in his sleep) he skimmed the page.

_Maxim took Veronica into his arms, holding her wet, trembling body against his. "Hush, lovely. You're safe now."_

"_I'll never be safe," she cried, "not as long as the Dark Man is after me."_

"_The Dark Man is only a myth, Veronica," he chuckled, "a story made up to scare small children."_

_Pulling back, Veronica stared at Maxim in disbelief. "You don't believe me?" Her chest heaved in anger, giving the Earl a tantalizing view of her ample mounds._

"_I believe that you believe the Dark Man is after you," he tried to placate._

_SMACK! Her hand struck violently, leaving a red print across his cheek. "You cad! You scoundrel! You … you … dastard. I should have known better than to trust you. You've been playing me all along hoping to gain my favor. You've never loved me at all."_

_She yanked herself from his grasp and began to move away._

"_No! You can't leave," Maxim cried with a voice so full of love that Veronica stopped and spun back around. What remained of her wet gown slapped against her bare thighs enticingly._

"_I do love you," he pleaded. "I do. More than life itself. Without you I am nothing. I've given you my heart, my soul, my very essence. If you leave, I will surely die."_

_Moved by his impassioned declaration of love, Veronica fell into his open arms and began kissing him in earnest. He returned the favor, but soon left her mouth to trace her throat with his lips. His hand moved from her waist, lower, to cup her -_

Harry shifted uncomfortably, stealing guilty glances around the room. Albus was alternately writing on one scroll and reading from another. Abe was still sleeping; his head rolled to the side leaving a trail of drool down his chin.

Feeling slightly naughty and perverted and secretly thrilled, Harry casually pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and covered himself from the waist down.

"Cold, Harry?" Albus asked, briefly flicking his eyes toward Harry as he continued to write something.

"Er … a bit," he sheepishly replied.

"If you are still uncomfortable I can stoke the fire."

"No … I'm … this'll be fine."

Albus only nodded as he continued to write. Letting out a slow breath, Harry turned back to his book to find where he'd left off.

_She yanked herself from his grasp and began to move away._

"_No! You can't leave," Maxim cried with a voice so full of love that Veronica stopped and spun back around. What remained of her wet gown slapped against her bare thighs enticingly._

"_I do love you," he pleaded. "I do. More than life itself. Without you I am nothing. I've given you my heart, my soul, my very essence. If you leave, I will surely die."_

Wait … what?

"_Without you I am nothing. I've given you my heart, my soul, my very essence."_

"My very essence," Harry repeated, his heart thumping in his chest.

"What was that?" Albus had paused in his writing to look Harry's way.

"My very essence … my soul." Sitting up, Harry swung his legs around so he was facing Albus, the blanket tangled unnoticed around his feet. "Pissing Pixies! We already have it – we have the bloody locket. We can do it."

"Harry, my boy, slow down," Albus urged. "Tell me this again, and this time, perhaps slow enough that I may understand?"

"Slytherin's ritual," he practically shouted, but a grunt from Abe caused him to lower his voice to a normal level. "Remember how the potion required four things? Basilisk venom, which we have from the Chamber; phoenix tears which Fawkes can give us; Acromantula silk, which Hagrid has in spades; and Essence of the Immortal. We've been using a scientific definition and assuming essence meant blood, or his … stuff. But I just realized; a person's essence also refers to their true self … the part of them that makes them them. Augh … I'm not saying this right."

"I think you are doing just fine," Albus assured him. He put down his quill and leaned forward to give Harry his full attention. "But how do you suggest we capture Tom's true self. That would suggest you want to capture his consciousness."

"No … see, it's in this book," and without thinking he held up his paperback novel and gave it a shake. "He tells Veronica he's given her his heart, his soul, his very essence. His soul _is_ his essence."

Looking confused, because he was, Albus asked, "who, exactly, is Veronica?"

"Oh … she's the Earl's girlfriend."

"The Earl's girlfriend," Albus repeated. "That does not sound like any research book I am familiar with. Is that a school book?"

"It's … er … look, that doesn't really matter," Harry asserted, tossing the book over his shoulder. "The point is, it's made me realize there is an alternate definition. And really, given everything we know about Horcruxes, I think they can definitely be considered a person's essence. They literally contain a piece of his soul, a part of his true self. And as luck would have it, we already have one we can use."

"The locket," Albus said, beginning to catch on.

"Exactly … right?"

Albus set aside his papers and stroked his beard in thought. "You know," he finally said, "that just might work. I will have to check a few facts, just to be certain, but I feel confident you've found a viable solution. But Harry," he added, his face losing some of its smile, "this still doesn't solve the entire problem. We would still be short one element – the end of life to bring the gift of death."

"Yeah," Harry agreed as he slumped back on the couch. "But at least we're a bit closer."

"You're closer than you think," a gruff voice called out, taking both Harry and Albus by surprise. They turned to see Aberforth awake in his chair, an oddly calm look on his face.

Wiping his chin with the palm of his hand, Abe spoke. "You need someone to give up their life to make the ritual work – oh, don't be looking surprised, if you didn't want me to know about it you shouldn't've talked about it so much and so loudly. Well, by lucky co-incidence, I happen to be ready to give up this miserable excuse for a life."

"What – No!" Harry cried as he jumped from his seat, only to fall back to his behind because the forgotten blanket held his feet trapped. Ignoring Abe's soft chuckle he turned to Albus, expecting the man to back him up, but Albus remained suspiciously silent as he tipped his head in thought.

Turning back to Abe, Harry told him, "that's insane."

"It's practical," Abe replied. He shifted and twisted so he was sitting upright, and with a determined look on his face, he turned to Harry. "My life is good as over already, lad. I can't beat this beast. And frankly, I'm tired of pretending I can."

"You could still have years," Harry tried to reason.

"Years," Abe harshly laughed. "Maybe one year … and that's being generous. And what kind of year will that be? Sittin' around withering away, just waiting for death to take me? Listen to me, Harry." And that's what got Harry's attention … got Harry to calm and really listen to what Abe was saying … being called _Harry_ and not lad or sonny or whatnot.

"For the first time in a very long time, I'm at peace. You did that. You gave me that. Albus and I hadn't been a family since we were kids ourselves and you brought us together. And now I find myself looking forward to doing the same with Ariana and our parents. And, I'll get to see my lovely Lenore again." His eyes seemed to shift to some other place for a moment. "I can only hope she was patient enough to wait for an old kneazle-herder like me."

Turning back to Harry, he added, "Imagine living most of your life without your Ginny. Wouldn't you be ready to be with her again?"

Harry didn't trust himself to reply, so instead he turned away.

"This is a very serious decision, Aberforth," Albus softly said to his brother. "I do not think it can or should be made in one afternoon. We have yet to determine that using the Horcrux will even work."

"You know it will," Abe replied, casually waving off his brother's comments.

The brothers locked eyes, giving Harry the impression a great unspoken discussion was taking place. Finally, Albus blinked. A look of understanding crossed his face and he warily nodded.

Harry could hardly believe his eyes. _Albus was agreeing!_ "But killing Abe – wouldn't that be dark magic?" Harry blurted out, earning himself a smirk from Abe and a compassionate look from Albus. "Maybe we shouldn't attempt this. I mean, wouldn't it make us just as bad as him or damage our souls or something?"

"If the sacrifice is willing, if it is done out of love and not hate, I believe it is the exact opposite of dark magic," Albus explained.

"So we're just letting him die?!"

"Calm down, sonny," Abe snapped. "I'm dying anyway, so there's no lettin' about it. And this ain't no snap decision," he continued. "I've known about your little ritual for some time now. Plenty long enough for me to think this through. A while ago I decided that if you could solve the problem with the blood, I would be your sacrifice."

"Yeah, but—"

"Harry, this was your idea," Albus gently interrupted, "and you were perfectly willing to go ahead with this ritual when the sacrificial lamb was some unnamed other. If memory serves, you were willing to be the sacrifice yourself. Perhaps your sudden unease isn't due as much to any perceived danger or immorality as to your reluctance to lose your favored uncle?"

"That's different," he insisted, purposely ignoring Albus' last comment. "And besides, you talked me out of that, remember?"

"It was indeed different," Albus countered. "You are young and healthy and have most of your life still ahead of you, whereas Aberforth is, forgive my bluntness, old and dying. It is as he said; his life is ending."

"I can't believe you're siding with him on this. How can you want your own brother to die?"

Instead of rising to Harry's bait, Albus took a breath and tried to reason with him. "Suppose, Harry, that we suddenly discovered you were still a Horcrux. Would you not accept your death if it was the only way to make Tom mortal again?"

As Harry was unwilling to admit what everyone in the room already knew, he remained silent.

"How can you deny Aberforth the same choice?"

Harry dropped his head in defeat. He knew their minds were made up.

"Look at me lad," Abe gently commanded, and Harry did so. "You're the closest I've ever had to a family of my own. I'm rather proud that you let me be your uncle. And I'd give anything to see that you survive this war. Even my own life."

Harry smiled sadly, knowing he couldn't stop his uncle from doing this any more than he could stop the tears that were running down his face.

"Unless you don't think I'm as worthy as your Mother?" Abe added to really drive his point home. "Her death would have been meaningless … except it allowed you to survive. Death by this disease is meaningless. If I do this, my death will mean something, too."

Harry nodded sharply once, then kicked the blanket away so he could wander over to his favorite window seat. The two grown men allowed the teenaged boy a few moments to reign in his emotions. He lost himself in thought as he traced patterns on the glass, not even realizing his finger was leaving a trail of frost in its wake.

Grasping for a new topic, Harry turned back and asked the first thing he could think of. "We still don't know how to get the sawol out of the locket. Do we just put the whole locket into the potion, do you think?"

"I believe Miss Granger would not be pleased were we to do so," Albus replied. "She is very passionate about saving the few remaining Founder's relics. But we have another option at our disposal – one you are already familiar with."

"Oh?" Harry questioned, not in the mood to figure it out on his own.

"We can move the sawol into another vessel like Voldemort did with the sawol that was inside Nagini. Something which can be safely added to the potion without fear of corrupting it's potency."

Harry nearly felt his jaw drop. "If it was that simple, why all the research? Why didn't you just do that in the first place?"

"Oh, were you going to ask Voldemort which spell he used?" When Harry looked properly humbled, Albus continued, "Simple is never a word I would use to describe spell creation and manipulation. The spell we already knew – the one that creates the Horcrux – needed to be twisted to work on an external sawol without endangering the caster. Now, Miss Granger has recently found –"

"No need to bore us to death with the details, Albus," Abe cut in. Turning to Harry, he added, "always lecturing, that one. His point is, they have the spell figured out, right Skipper?"

"We are very close, yes," Albus agreed. "But how do you know?"

With a smirk, Abe pulled a flesh-colored jumble from his pocket. "My niece-in-law-to-be gave me this odd looking device. You wouldn't believe the things I've learned with this little gem," he added with a funny look at Harry.

Harry was smart enough to know that whatever Abe had learned while using the extendable ear would not be flattering for him, so he turned his back on the man. Behind him, Albus and Abe began talking about time frames and putting things in order and last wishes in what Harry felt was a cold, precise manner. Death wasn't meant to be entered into like a business decision. It was meant to be fought, kicking and screaming. Wasn't it?

Lost in thought, it barely registered when Albus led him into his office. He hardly realized he was sitting in a chair, holding a cup of tea. It wasn't until Fawkes sang what felt like a glorious hymn that Harry came back to himself.

Looking Albus in the eye, he had to ask, "Why?"

"Why am I allowing my brother to make this choice … or why am I not more upset by his decision?"

"Why have you suddenly changed your mind about the ritual? You kept telling me the price was too high but now you're alright with it."

"You mean aside from the fact that until this very day, we had not discovered a way around the blood dilemma? In truth, you had already started to sway me to toward the viability of the ritual. Your research certainly seemed to support your contention that Slytherin used it successfully. But you are correct; I remained unwilling to consider asking anyone to kill themselves for the cause. For just a moment, I had considered using myself, but, if you recall, you made it quite clear to me that you would not accept that option, and … I admit … I feared how such an action would affect you."

Harry nearly chuckled, for that had been the politest way anyone had ever said they were concerned about his mental stability.

"In the end, Aberforth himself was the deciding factor. As much as it pains us, Harry, we have to accept that he is ready to move on. He wants to avoid what he feels is the humiliating end this disease would give him. An end that is rapidly approaching, even without this ritual."

After that, the two lapsed into silence and Harry fidgeted in his seat and played with his tea as he tried to come up with any argument he thought would make a difference.

"Easter break will soon be upon us," Albus eventually said in a weary voice. "Now that Aberforth has made his decision, he wants to 'get a move on', as he put it. I find myself selfishly wanting to spend my brother's last days without the distractions of school and politics, so I would like to arrange a family trip over break. Just the three of us. A last hurrah, if you will. Do you … find this agreeable?"

Harry had been staring into his cup, but had looked up as Albus had stumbled over his words, and found himself struck by the sadness he saw on his guardians' face. "Yeah … sounds … nice."

"Very well. I shall make the necessary arrangements."

Deciding that was a good point to escape this discussion, Harry put his cup aside and stood. Before he could get very far, Albus stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I do so hate speaking bluntly in these matters, but you do realize that only two of us shall return?" When Harry mutely nodded, he added, "you'd best pick out something appropriate for a funeral so the elves can get them cleaned and pressed while we are gone."

Harry returned to his friends in Gryffindor Tower on autopilot and though he could never remember exactly what he told them, he could tell by the girls' tear-streaked faces he'd gotten the main points across. Hermione confessed that they were confident they had the spell worked out; they just needed to break the protective enchantments and spells on the Horcrux, which was something Albus refused to let her help with.

"It just had me so worried," she continued, "I mean, I'm fairly confident the spell will work but you can never know for certain with new spells until you try and there's just so much that could go wrong. Souls aren't toys, after all. Who's to say how they'll react to all that magic. And there was that whole shared blood mess. It's impossible to truly predict how using his blood would have affected you, because it's really your blood. I was starting to worry that it simply wouldn't be resolved and the only other answer is finding those other bloody Horcruxes, which let's be honest, isn't going to happen any time soon, if ever."

"Whoa –" Ron began, no doubt to comment on Hermione's uncharacteristic language, but Harry loudly coughed to drown him out. But if there was one bright spot to Hermione's nervous ramble, it was proof to Harry that she was indeed coming out of her depression, which despite everything brought a (admittedly small) smile to Harry's face.

The next ten days were some of the hardest in Harry's life. For the first time he understood … truly understood … why Albus had hidden the prophecy from him for so long. A dozen times a day he wished he didn't know Uncle Abe's death was in eight days … in seven days … in six days … a morbid countdown to a depressing finale. He confessed to the girls that he rather wished he could go back to being that naïve little First Year who believed that everything was going to be alright, and Hermione couldn't help but agree.

As most of the student body prepared to enjoy Easter break, Harry was packing for the saddest trip of his life. He, Albus, and Aberforth were spending a few days at Minerva's sister's lodge on the Orkney Islands. Harry wasn't even certain which island they were headed for, only that it was a safe and remote area. The three of them were going fishing, an idea that made Harry do a manly version of giggling every time he thought about it. He certainly didn't know the first thing about fishing – Vernon would have likely kicked him into the water as soon as let him give it a try. Albus, he was equally certain, had never fished the Muggle way ... and probably never the magical way, either.

Leaving his dorm, he met Ginny by the stairs and together they wordlessly walked to the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Ignoring the gargoyle that was anxious to open for him, Harry grabbed Ginny in a tight hug. "Love you," he whispered.

"Me too," she softly answered back. Pulling back to look into his eyes, she added, "you be sure to give Uncle Abe my love. And … I'll be here for you when you get back."

With one last kiss, Harry let go and allowed Ginny to leave. Once in Albus' quarters, he found the brothers already waiting. Albus had a battered old telescope in his hand and at the appointed time, all three took hold for the journey. They landed near a small structure made of mismatched grey stones with large shuttered windows and smoke billowing from a stubby chimney. It looked unkempt and possibly unsafe, with crumbled sections of stone near the windows and corners and tall weeds growing up around the foundation. A loud rushing noise could occasionally be heard, telling Harry the sea was probably hidden just beyond the thin line of trees.

The interior of the lodge, it turned out, was cozy and welcoming and full of exotic souvenirs from Helena McGonagall-MacDougal's adventures. There was one central room incorporating living, cooking, and dining space, with doors leading to the bedrooms and the loo. The walls were predominately brown and deep purple, but there were splashes of color everywhere, like an Italian flag hanging in the kitchen area and the human-sized oriental urn done in reds and oranges. Large pictures of a happy, waving couple adorned the walls: posing on the lip of a smoking volcano, standing deep inside a cave holding up picks and sparkling jewels, and swimming with the Loch Ness 'monster'. An set of long spindly horns hung above the fireplace and the rug under the dining table appeared to be made from yeti fur. Harry chuckled as he spotted the scratching post and cat toys stuffed away in a corner.

While the brothers squabbled over who got which bedroom, Harry ventured out and explored the grounds and found them to be as isolated and as peaceful as promised. He returned from his impromptu hike to find Albus frying eggs and sausage for supper. Abe was relaxing on the lumpy green couch with his eyes closed, but he shouted out nonsense advice to his brother so everyone would know he wasn't sleeping. After eating, they called it an early night.

Bright and far-too-early the next morning, the three made their way to a sturdy wooden walkway suspended over the water's edge. Abe was using what could only be described as the magical equivalent of a wheelchair, Albus-style – an oversized, overstuffed, plush-covered easy chair adorned with colorful butterflies that Albus levitated between locations.

Somehow, Albus had gotten his hands on Muggle fishing poles, complete with mechanical reels and fancy feathered lures. Already, the two old men were fighting over the rods – Abe wanted the full-sized green one but Albus felt he should use the smaller one with the cartoon figures on it. Leaning his own pole against his chair, Harry watched as Albus tried to show Abe how to cast his line. Tried being the key word: the tiny hook at the end of the lure mysteriously caught Albus' beard, pulling uncomfortably on the hair instead of sailing over the water.

It took a few minutes to untangle the beard but eventually Albus was ready to try again. This time, he decided to use live bait so he summoned a can of worms from his supplies. Unfortunately, he managed – accidentally of course – to dump the worms all over Abe's lap.

Camera in hand, Harry sat back in his chair and spent the morning watching the two men bicker and whine and continually sabotage each other. Needless to say, the fish were perfectly safe.

Over a dinner of cold beans and fried meat, Abe told Harry all about the ones he'd almost caught. He swore there were grindylow in the water helping the fish escape.

Every day Abe pushed himself to enjoy every moment, and his worn-out body was paying the price. After the third catch-less day of their trip, Abe actually fell asleep in the middle of dinner, slumping sideways and almost falling out of his chair. Albus was quick to catch him and moved him to the sofa, where he tenderly tucked a blanket around his brother. That simple act brought home for Harry just how hard this was on his guardian.

Walking up behind Albus, he cleared his throat to make his presence known. Albus silently turned to face him, unwittingly showing Harry the teardrops tracking down his face. Without even thinking, Harry put his arms around Albus and hugged him, surprised to feel the man's body shaking when he hugged back.

"It's going to be alright," Harry said, even though he didn't believe the words himself. "He won't really be gone … not as long as we keep him in our hearts." If he'd stopped to think, Harry would have realized he was repeating back to Albus things the man had said to him, but he wasn't thinking so much as simply saying what he felt. "And we'll still have each other. You won't be alone, Dad."

The second it left his mouth, Harry stiffened in mortification. But Albus made no comment on Harry's unusual word, although his did hug him tighter.

After that emotional outpouring – or 'goo', as Harry categorized it – Harry was afraid Easter would be a somber day. Entering the great room that morning, he was relieved to find that Albus had recovered from his bout of human-ness. He was sitting at the table cheerfully painting eggs which he claimed would be hidden for Harry to find, insisting his own mother did they same when he was growing up. Beside him, Abe was grumbling about preferring chocolate as he collected the finished products.

Harry didn't have the heart to say no to the hunt, much to Abe's amusement, although he absolutely refused to let Albus give him fluffy bunny ears, no matter how traditional he claimed it was. At the appointed time Harry was pushed into the yard, wicker basket in hand, to hunt down the enemy eggs. After a few minutes of wandering around, he found the purple one with yellow stripes in a broken clay pot; the lime green one decorated with pink squiggles was next to an old boot; and he had to convince a garden snake to let him have the blue speckled one, which the snake wanted to eat.

Never would he admit it was fun – not ever would anyone know how much he'd always wanted find the eggs instead of boil them. If there was a smile on his face as he spotted the egg nestled on a knotted log, no one would be the wiser. Or so he told himself, until he caught a flash of light and turned to find Abe taking photographic evidence.

The rest of the day was equally enjoyable. After a simple supper, as the three relaxed near the fire and sipped glasses of lemon wine, Abe reached into a nearby basket and pulled out an assortment of wrapped gifts. Albus was presented with a lumpy package which contained a black woolen sea captain's hat and well-used corncob pipe.

"That's so you can always be the Skipper. Plus, I figure you're crazy enough to wear the thing in public and think it looks good. I should also tell you that there's an unopened bottle of Russian Vodka hidden in my room under all those transfiguration magazines you gave me. You might as well have it."

With a nod of thanks, Albus put on the hat and stuck the pipe in his mouth. He managed to speak around the pipe, looking at Harry and asking, "What say you, my boy?"

"I don't think sea captains are that formal, and you need to add an 'arrrr'," Harry explained.

Albus replied by removing his pipe and pouting.

"Now you, lad," Abe said, pointing to the two packages he'd put in Harry's lap.

Harry picked up a thick, rectangular-shaped box which was wrapped in old newspaper. Inside he found an old-fashioned German beer stein like the kind Vernon kept on shelves in his study. But this was no Muggle mug; it wasn't decorated with dancing people or snowy mountains, it was covered with fighting dragons. A horntail and a Chinese fireball, to be exact, and they were facing off over a treasure chest which was overflowing with coins and trinkets. Being a magical stein, the dragons flapped their wings, snapped their tails, and blew their fire, and the treasure glistened in such a realistic manner that Harry wondered if it was painted using real gold and silver.

"It's so you can drink to my memory from time to time," Abe offered as Harry continued to twist the stein around. "I had to barter with some of the best of the 'em, so I hope you appreciate it. Was going to give it to you for your birthday, but…"

Offering his thanks, Harry set the mug aside to pick up the smaller package. Ripping the paper apart, a stuffed goat fell into his lap.

Chuckling, Abe pointed to the goat. "Now that there is Wulfric."

"Wulfric the goat?" Harry questioned, glancing toward Albus to see his reaction. Albus appeared not to have heard, as he was suddenly very interested in his new pipe, which he was studying with a fierceness normally reserved for suspected dark objects.

"Wulfric Percival, to be precise. It's not really for you, though. It's for my first grand-nephew when he's born. But you have to promise not to name the little sprog after me. He'll have enough expectations heaped on him just for being your kid. Why add my legacy on top of it?"

"Ginny says she wants to name our first son Bilius," Harry chuckled, "but I think that's just to annoy Ron because he hates his middle name. But I promise, there won't be any Aberforth Bilius Something Something Potter."

"There's a good lad. Keep it to three names or less," Abe cracked back.

"You're one to talk," Albus replied, giving up pretending to examine his pipe, which in his defense was a rather small and plain pipe. One could only examine it for so long. "Have you ever mentioned your full name to Harry? No?" Ignoring the dark look from Abe, Albus turned to Harry. "Allow me to enlighten you. This is my brother, Aberforth Janus Ingvar Roy Dumbledore." Eyes twinkle, he added, "Apparently, Mother had trouble narrowing down names."

"I don't have to stay here and take the abuse, you know," Abe huffed indignantly. He struggled as he tried to stand and would have fallen over if not for Harry's quick reflexes. He slumped back in his seat, his energy completely gone.

"I'm tired."

Instinctively, Harry knew he wasn't talking about needing a good night's rest.

Turning to gaze out a window, Abe softly spoke. "Have I ever told you I love a good sunrise? It's my favorite time of day, though with the pub I rarely got to see one. I think I should like to enjoy one last sun rise."

Harry and Albus shared a look; they both knew what Abe was saying.

"One last sunrise," Albus finally said, "sounds like a wonderful idea. We should all be so lucky."

Harry closed his eyes, wishing this wasn't happening.

After several minutes, during which Abe continued to stare out the window, Albus picked up his pipe and fiddled with it again, and Harry bit his lip and took deep breaths as he tried not to think, Abe finally spoke again. "Right then … why don't one of you make yourself useful and help me to me bed? If I'm getting up early, I'd best get some sleep."

Albus silently helped his brother, leaving Harry to his own thoughts. When he hadn't returned after twenty minutes, Harry gave up and headed for his own bed, not that he expected to sleep much.

Early the next morning, well before the sun would rise, Harry stood next to Albus, helping prepare a rather simple potion. The Basilisk venom and Acromantula silk had already been mixed in a water base and now Harry stirred as Albus dropped in Fawkes' tears. The surface frizzled and frothed but Harry continued his steady motions until it was calm again.

"You may stop now," Albus told him as he looked into the cauldron. The liquid inside was an oily orange with floating bits of curdled gunk on its surface.

Poking one of the floaters with his spoon, Harry asked, "Shouldn't we stir it longer to get those to mix in?"

"No, I do not believe they will have any impact. Such solidification often occurs when dealing with a natural poison. I believe all that is needed is the final ingredient, which I will add just before it is time."

It occurred to Harry that he didn't know what the sawol was now housed inside, as Albus had only said it had been safely extracted from the locket. He searched the tabletop but didn't see anything suspect; but then, what did a disconnected piece of soul look like?

"D-er … ahem … Dad, were's the sawol?"

In reply, Albus pointed to a canning jar that appeared to contain a single piece of rusty looking ice. Harry almost stupidly asked why it wasn't melting, but closed his mouth just in time. Based on the smirk on his guardian's face, he knew Harry's thoughts.

Instead he asked, "Is that really an ice cube?"

"It is our replacement Horcrux," Albus explained. "We knew the sawol needed to be placed inside something that was safe to add to our potion. And rather ingeniously, I chose water; or, more accurately, frozen water."

Harry held the jar up to a candle as he inspected the ice cube. "So that black stuff in the ice isn't rust?"

Taking the jar away from Harry, Albus explained, "That, I would imagine, is the physical representation of Voldemort's tainted and fractured soul. You will remember the black smoke released from the other Horcruxes; this is likely the same thing. When I add this cube to the potion the water will melt, allowing the sawol to mix with the potion. The melted water will have no effect on the potion by itself, but if we have done our research correctly, we will see a change in the color and consistency of the potion due to the addition of Tom's essence."

Somewhere in the house a bell chimed, letting them know that sunrise was close at hand. Together, they woke Abe and helped him move to a comfortable chair. They'd offered to help him dress, but he claimed he was plenty comfortable in his pajamas and the bunny slippers he'd stolen from his brother.

The trio made their way back to the fishing deck, where floating torches illuminated the area. Abe, in his floating chair, was positioned facing the horizon so he would catch the first rays of sunlight. Albus was helping his brother settle in by tucking a blanket across his lap. Hearing their hushed voices, Harry stepped back to check the potion and give them some privacy.

When Albus stood and stepped behind his brother's chair Harry stopped his busy work and joined the two brothers. Albus vanished the torches so they could wait in dark silence for the sun to rise.

Harry felt like he was experiencing a waking dream. He couldn't hear any of nature's noises that he knew surrounded them. His senses were narrowed down to two: touch, where his left hand was loosely resting on Abe's right shoulder, and sight. He knew Albus stood next to him, and he wondered if he was caught in the same strange spell.

From far away, where the earth appeared to meet the sky, came the first hint of daylight. The sky filled with streaks of red, pink, and orange as a giant ball peaked above the water. There was no concept of time; the sunrise might have taken five minutes, or twenty, or one hundred. But eventually, the sky was bright enough that Harry had to admit it was over.

With a pat to Harry's arm, Albus moved away to add the final ingredient to the potion. Harry's mouth went dry.

"Come where I can see you, Harry," Abe quietly spoke, and Harry sluggishly moved so he was squatting in front of his uncle, looking him in the eye.

"I … am very fond of you, son," Abe began. A shaking hand reached out and grabbed one of Harry's. "But I don't want to see you for a long, long time. Truth be told, I'm hoping Albus takes his time, too," he added with a stressed sounding chuckle. "I was the second son, so I never had our parents all to myself before. I'm rather looking forward to that … and catching up with Ariana … and my lovely Lenore."

Harry had the feeling Abe wasn't actually seeing him anymore, which was just as well since he'd been unable to stop the tears from running down his face.

Finally, Abe seemed to refocus on Harry. "I expect I'll keep plenty busy for quite some time. So you just take your time getting there and we'll catch up once you do. Now … one last request for a dying old man?"

Harry knew by the playful look that overtook Abe's face – which he found both comforting and unsettling – that he would regret doing so, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything but agree.

"When you get back to the school, you give that little woman of yours a pinch on her bum from me. It's a rather lovely bum, see, and if you hadn't already claimed it …" he suggested with a wink.

The laughter that came bubbling out surprised Abe nearly as much as it surprised Harry, and he assured the man he'd give her a pinch she wouldn't forget.

Albus finished his work and approached the laughing pair, clearing his throat to get their attention. In his hand was an unadorned ceramic chalice, which he lowered for Abe to take. From his vantage point, Harry was able to see the deadly potion inside. Its color had changed to blood red – not the bright red of fresh blood, but the darker, thicker shade of a puddle of hours-old, half-congealed blood. Harry could just imagine the smell of decay wafting up from the cup but Abe took it without complaint. He gave the goblet a swirl, crinkling his nose as he did so. Then, with a strange look of … contentment was the only word Harry could think of to describe it … Abe raised the cup.

"Here's to your health, boys," he cheerfully said. Then he brought the chalice to his lips and drank.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** For those who worried about Hermione – I know I didn't do her justice in this chapter. Unfortunately, the main topic didn't allow me to show much of her. Please be assured that while Harry has been distracted with his own issues, Ginny has stepped up and been helping Hermione.

This has been a very hard chapter to get ready to post. We've had a couple of family funerals, my Dad-in-law's cancer is back and it's not good, and as if that's not enough, we recently found out our older dog is severely diabetic and mostly blind. So … yeah.


	39. On Hallowed Ground

Two goblins walk into a bar and the first one says "did you hear about that lady that tried to say she owned Harry Potter?"…"No," says his friend. "They disemboweled her and boiled her bones in honey. In honey. Get it?"

I just don't get goblin humor.

.

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**Chapter 39. On Hallowed Ground**

From where he was sitting, Harry could see the tombstone. It was off to the side, leaning against a tree, masquerading as an innocent piece of cement with its simple rounded edges; its plain, colorless face; and its cold, emotionless words simplifying one man's life into a few lines. Its somber message mocked the gentle, sunny day.

On his right, Harry could feel Ginny's tears soaking through his robe as she sobbed on his shoulder. It was probably a good thing he needed to be strong for her, otherwise he feared he'd be doing to same to Albus. Instead, he settled for a death-grip on the man's hand.

He shifted his attention back to Uncle Abe's casket at the front of the crowd, careful to look no further. He knew if he did, he would be able to make out his parent's tombstone just beyond. Not that it would be hard to find. Since this was a magical funeral, the grave markers that would have otherwise been in the way had been temporarily vanished, leaving an open area large enough to accommodate the service. Only the Potter stone remained in place – for his benefit, he imagined.

In front of the crowd, standing so close he was almost touching the deep brown, hand-carved wooden casket, was the too young (by Harry's standards) funeral director provided by After Life Funeral Parlour, England's only magical funeral home. Harry felt the director, the slick-looking Wally Wazzock, needed to brush up on his coffin-side manner: he smiled too much as he spoke, looked condescending when he was trying to look comforting, had a tacky skull-and-crossbones earring dangling from his left ear, and he kept getting Uncle Abe's name wrong. That last one was nearly unforgivable, but even it paled to the man's greatest sin of not paying attention to what he was told about the deceased.

He'd already spoken at great length about _Algerfirth's_ public service, leaving Harry to wonder if the director knew of Abe's philosophy that if alcohol couldn't fix a problem, it at least made it bearable. Abe's years of such service had segued into an impassioned speech on what a kind-hearted man Algerfirth had been. Harry was certain he'd heard more than one disbelieving snort and he took a quick look around for the culprits. The obvious one was the normally strong man at his side, who was very near to crying despite the little laugh.

Ducking his head, Harry looked around the small gathering, trying to figure out who else had laughed. On the other side of Ginny sat Minerva, who was dabbing her eyes with a kerchief. He doubted she would ever breach etiquette that severely. Molly and Charlie Weasley were seated behind him, but since he could hear her quietly admonishing her son to stop fiddling with the belt on his robe, he knew they were innocent as well.

No doubt Ron would have also been fidgety if he'd attended. But Harry had insisted that Ron stay at the castle and comfort Hermione, who'd relapsed a bit in her depression. According to Ginny, who was good at understanding these things, Hermione's troubles had been compounded by something similar to survivor's guilt, as she'd been the one to find the ritual that had ultimately taken Abe's life. She'd been blubbering on Ron's shoulder when they'd left this morning.

It wasn't very charitable, but Harry hoped that by the time he returned to the castle, she wouldn't be quite so teary eyed. Although, he certainly understood how she felt. A few times during the last week he'd felt his own grip slipping; not enough to need a house call from Dr. Tony, at least not so far, but enough that he knew he couldn't take on anyone else's troubles just now. Hermione would have to deal without his help.

With a deep sigh, Harry forced his mind back to the here and now. He risked another glance around for the one who'd chuckled, this time stopping to examine the elderly woman whom Albus had introduced as Bathilda Bagshot, a one-time neighbor to the brothers. She was small, wrinkled, and hunched over, looking like a human jumper that had stretched in wear then shrunk in the wash. Harry doubted she was even aware of what was being said, let alone responding to it.

Beyond her sat a man Harry vaguely recognized as a regular at the Hogs Head before it'd been destroyed. Harry would suspect him just on principal, except the man looked very uncomfortable and out-of-place every time he glanced at Harry and Albus, like he didn't know how to act around such famous people. He was too nervous to be the mystery laugher.

There were only a handful of others present: a stick-like man wearing droopy robes and an ill-fitting black wig who Albus had pointed out as Finster Fletchley, Abe's childhood friend and cohort; two shady looking men Harry didn't think he wanted to know, who did lots of whispering and pointing; Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid, probably the only other Hogwarts people that really knew Abe; and oddly enough, Madam Rosmerta, who was either paying her respects to a worthy competitor or was attending out of friendship to Albus.

All in all, it was a rather small group, but then, Abe didn't have many friends. And, it was war.

With a shrug, Harry decided one of the unknown men must have been the culprit and, since they appeared to be together, he would hold it against both of them.

"What I think you will remember the most," Director Wazzock loudly pronounced, his voice sounding almost cheerful to Harry, "was his sympathetic ear. He was always ready to pour a glass and lend an ear … am I right?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

Harry was quite ready to jump up and shout _no_, _he was not right_, when a sharp snapping noise shook the area, its accompanying flash of light so unexpected several people jumped in their seats. The violent lightening strike, completely out of place for such calm weather, was immediately followed by another, but this time the clapping was accompanied by a second sound … a scream of primal pain.

Bending forward, Harry's hands shot to his forehead to hold it together lest it explode. In a haze, he nearly slid off his chair but soft hands dug into his right arm to steady him.

He wasn't aware of the roaring thunder and striking lightening that was far too close for comfort or chance. In a matter of seconds, the mourners were effectively surrounded as a freak thunderstorm, strangely minus any rain, settled directly overhead. As lightening continued to pelt the earth one strike after another, smoke rose up encircling the funeral and harsh winds whipped through the nearby trees.

No; Harry's world was focused on two things. One, the deep throbbing pain in his head which made his eyes water and his breakfast try to reappear. Two, its obvious cause. With his eyes tightly shut and his left hand scrubbing his scar, he used his right to reach for his wand.

Then, as suddenly as it had started the squall stopped, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. And then he heard …

"I come to offer my condolences, Albuss," said the cold, sibilant voice of his nightmares. "One must remember the niceties in these troubled times, do you not agree."

Harry felt more than heard Albus rise from his seat. Swallowing thickly, he took a few deep breaths and, when the pain let up the slightest degree, forced his eyes open to find Voldemort standing just beyond Abe's coffin and open grave, almost directly across from Albus. His arms were spread as if to show he was no threat, his wand hanging almost casually as it pointed toward the ground.

The funeral director still stood in his place facing the assembly; Voldemort behind and to his right. His entire body was trembling so violently he looked like he would just as soon topple from over-exertion as faint from fear.

Harry shared the sentiment if not the reaction. Whatever powerful magic Voldemort had called upon, it must have ripped apart Albus' protections for the devil to be standing so close. It had to be dark magic - only the worst sort of magic would allow itself to desecrate a holy land.

Even though he was still bent forward in pain, Harry had the presence of mind to subtly look around. Many of the mourners – at least those that he could see – had stood from their seats to face the intruders. "Can't apparate," one of them cried in a panicked voice, earning sniggers of amusement from some of the Death Eaters; and there were many of those … in their ceremonial robes and creepy masks … at least five that Harry could see, though he was certain they were behind him as well. No doubt they snaked around to encircle the assembly.

Like the grotesque ringmaster in a circus of horrors, Voldemort stood before the crowd, drawing everyone's attention. Ignoring his audience, however, he continued speaking to Albus. "I never cared much for my own family … and I believe they didn't care much for me. Certainly not at their end," he added with a small laugh. "But I can understand how emotional fools can allow themselves to be weakened by such sentimentality."

Maybe it was because his body was adjusting to the pain, or maybe because Voldemort's own emotions had settled down … for whichever reason, the torture in Harry's skull regressed to a manageable level. There was still pain, but now instead of feeling as if his head was about to burst into pieces it only felt like it had been sideswiped by a bludger.

Voldemort must have sensed the change in Harry, for he turned his attention to the boy. "Harry Potter … how nice of you to help your Headmaster send off his dearly departed brother. And so close to your own loved ones," he added, gesturing toward the Potter gravestone. "Why, it's practically a family reunion."

As if on cue, the Death Eaters chortled at their Lord's joke.

Harry, however, didn't think it funny. He rose from his seat (so he was now standing side to side with Albus) and gave Voldemort his best, most scornful glare, his wand starting to come up – only to feel a gentle hand stop the move. He glanced at the offending hand, then followed it up its arm and to the face of its owner.

Albus gave the tiniest shake of his head, but didn't explain otherwise.

Voldemort silently watched the exchange and when Harry made no further move to raise his wand, he stepped forward confidently and spoke in a voice that carried across the area. "You and I are not like these others, Harry Potter. Stuffed in boxes and buried in dirt … that is not in our future. Not that your destiny is quite as great as mine … _how could it be?_ … but at least this pitiful lonely existence of yours will not end with decaying flesh and discarded bone."

Harry couldn't find the words to describe his revulsion so he remained silent. The others – whether they were too terrified to do otherwise or they were following Albus' lead – also stayed quiet even though, in some cases, their wands were at the ready.

When Albus spoke, it was in the same voice he used to address wayward students. "For what real purpose have you come here today, Tom?"

"Is it not obviouss, Albus?" Voldemort responded, his tone matching Albus' so that it was hard to tell who was lecturing whom.

It had to be the most unreal, confusing, terrifying conversation most of these people had ever witnessed, Harry fleetingly thought.

Continuing as if he was holding a private conversation, as if there weren't nervous mourners and vicious Death Eaters watching, Albus replied, "What is obvious is your desperation. Attacking on hallowed ground?"

"Hallowed ground," Tom scoffed. "The pitiful prayers and pointless preaching of Muggles … they are nothing compared to the might of our magic. Such superstitious nonsense has never stopped me before, as our dear Harry can attest. You do remember, don't you Harry?"

Harry's anger instantly flared, his look turning murderous, his wand hand trembled, as he recalled meeting this monster in another cemetery.

"I see you do," Voldemort calmly goaded him. "It was, as all here can see, a successful venture on my part. Your _hallowed ground_ certainly did the Diggory boy no favors."

It was only Albus' hand still gripping Harry's arm that kept him from charging forward.

"It was your free will, Tom, that cost a fine young man his life and it is _you_, not Cedric Diggory, who will ultimately pay the price for your sacrilege. Blessed places may be by and large ignored by our kind these days but that does not make them any less sacred. To openly attack another on such hallowed ground is to defy a higher power than even we wizards possess. It would be prudent for you to retreat now, before you and your men cross that line."

A few of the Death Eaters making up the circle shifted nervously.

"You use religious dogma to hide your weakness," Voldemort asserted. "Are you so afraid to fight me?"

"I believe I proved myself capable enough at our last meeting. It is you, I think, who fears an honest fight. You come to us at a time of grief in this sacred place, knowing we will not risk eternal damnation by attacking first. But yet again, you have miscalculated. _This_ is not some common cemetery in a forgotten Muggle town. We stand in a place honored by Wizardkind. It cradles within its walls the ancestors of some of the strongest and oldest magical families. I cannot help but think your supporters amongst the populace will not overlook your blatant disregard for the rules of society when word of this attack reaches the masses."

"By the time the story is told," the evil man hissed, "you will be neutralized and the Boy Who Lived will be mine … the opinions of an insignificant few will no longer be of consequence."

All the while, the others listened and waited to see who would make the first move. Harry could hear a few of what he termed 'civilians' shuffling closer together as Ginny pressed herself _very_ close to his side. Several of the Death Eaters were flicking their wands in a threatening manner, although one or two seemed hesitant, making Harry believe Albus' words had affected them.

Voldemort ignored all of this; he turned his attention back to Harry. "This is your only chance, Harry Potter. Surrender to me now and I will allow these misguided fools to go free. They are nothing to me. They need not die today."

From just behind his right ear he could hear Molly Weasley urging him not to listen, although her voice was nearly drown out by a crabby voice shouting, "Do it, Potter. I don't wanna die because of you."

Ignoring Mr. Crabby's request, Molly's plea, and Ginny's tight grip on his arm, he addressed the mad man. "Even the Headmaster?"

"If I promised your precious Headmaster would live to teach another day, would you actually believe me?" Voldemort asked dubiously. "I offer you the lives of the others. Surely you can see what a generous gift this is? All you have to do to earn such lenity is drop your wand and come to me."

Before Harry could respond Albus called out, "I believe Mister Potter and myself would be more than willing to discuss this matter further after you allow the innocent mourners to freely leave. As you said, they are not a part of this."

A new voice – a Death Eater off to the group's left – shot back, "Save it, old man. If they're friends with you and yours, they can't be all that innocent." Louder, he called out, "you have three seconds to drop your wands and surrender."

Harry knew it was unlikely – alright, impossible – for Voldemort to keep his word … but … there were so many innocent people … it would be impossible to protect them all.

"One," the voice called out. Every Death Eater firmly aimed their wand into the crowd of mourners.

Right at the edge of his vision, Harry saw two wands roll toward the line of Death Eaters. "Come on Potter … do what they say," Mr. Crabby's companion, Mr. Chicken, urged.

"Two."

"Come on. We dropped our wands! Let us go," Crabby whined.

Harry quickly glanced around. Voldemort had ten Death Eaters (at a minimum, he didn't really have time to count), beating their eight Order members (and that was counting Charlie, who didn't even have a real wand). The civilians were an unknown commodity, although at least two were already wandless and another – the funeral director caught between Voldemort and Albus – was currently sitting on the ground gently rocking as he hugged his knees to his chest.

Then Voldemort called out again, "Come Harry … be a good boy … come to your lord."

Albus was watching Harry. He could see the indecision on his face as clearly as he could see the almost-curls at the nape of his neck that indicated a haircut was past due.

"Stay strong, Harry," Albus said just loud enough for Harry to hear. "We both know your surrender will do nothing to save our friends."

A startled cry behind him made Harry cringe but he didn't dare turn away from Voldemort; but he didn't have too. Ginny's mortified plea of _"Harry"_ seemed to confirm what he suspected – that while Voldemort had kept their attention, the Death Eaters behind the group had moved forward and filled in some gaps, so they were well and truly surrounded.

"Are you so willing to let the innocents die for you, Harry Potter?" asked that taunting voice. "And you, Albus … you will sacrifice all these lives just to keep one insignificant boy at your side?"

Voldemort stepped forward so he was directly behind Abe's coffin. He slowly, dramatically, ran his left hand along the gleaming wood, almost caressing it with the tips of his fingers.

"Step away from the boy, Albuss, or I guarantee their deaths will be neither quick nor painless. Surely you can see the greater good is served by protecting the majority?" Voldemort used his wand as a pointer to indicate a spot between two of his Death Eaters. The shorter, rounder of the two yanked off his mask and smirked as he mockingly saluted his former Headmaster.

Harry looked up to Albus for guidance. Bright blue eyes looked into his own … and he saw Albus sitting at his bedside when he'd been ill last year … and heard his guardian's voice …"you've placed great trust in me Harry and I shall not let you down. I will take care of you, my boy" … and then the scene shifted and they were standing in their secret training cave and Albus was showing him how to perform a spell … "I know it seems like it will not work, but just follow my lead and you will be surprised by the results" … and back into his own mind, Harry smiled as he bobbed his head oh-so-slightly. He would trust his Dad and follow his lead.

"As you wish, Tom," Albus finally conceded. "I shall entrust my wand to a neutral party, if you don't mind." Not letting Voldemort respond, he stepped forward and placed his wand at the feet of the funeral director, who was so lost in his terror that he never even noticed. Without looking back – and apparently not noticing the Death Eater try and fail to summon his wand – Albus calmly and confidently walked to his designated spot. "Amycus Carrow and Edred Avery," he acknowledged when he reached his minders, "excellent choices to guard me, Tom. Should our negotiations fail, I shall endeavor not to harm you too much, gentlemen."

Avery, who hadn't removed his mask, jerked back in surprise at being identified. Carrow, however, continued to smirk as he gripped his wand and flexed it in an obvious manner, as if to welcome such a fight.

Voldemort, however, refocused on Harry. "Now come to me, child. I have a place of honor waiting for you … a position befitting one of your distinction … you will be kept safe with me … there is no need to be afraid."

And Harry's traitorous mind immediately remembered another, friendlier voice …_ "you're not afraid of You Know Who anymore," _Luna had confidently declared_ "it's hard to be once you've seen them naked."_ And right on top of that came a higher, colder voice. _"Robe me," _he'd commanded. Harry's wand began to droop as he couldn't stop the memory … Voldemort was standing tall … waiting for Wormtail … his newly formed body all ashen and skeletal and _most definitely naked_.

In the precious seconds Harry was distracted by his memory …

… Fenrir Greyback sprang forward and viciously shoved Ginny to the ground and wrenched Harry's wand arm behind his back. The chairs they'd been sitting in were kicked over in the process, forcing those behind them to back away from the captured teen and allowing Greyback to gain tighter hold on his prey.

… Albus twirled away from his minders and summoned his wand, intent to rush to Harry's aid. Avery and Carrow had other plans. Albus' maneuver spared him from their first volley of vicious curses but others quickly followed and he had to refocus on his own predicament.

… Someone sang out "three, three, three" – not that many even remembered there was a countdown.

Harry cried out in shock and tried to struggle, but the beastly man jerked him backward so he stumbled against the man's chest. "Hush, pretty boy," he whispered in Harry's ear – and Harry opened his mouth to protest – but his words were cut off as a damp cloth was pressed against his face …

… Albus was pushed further away from Harry as he dodged Killing Curses from three different directions.

… Others saw what was happening, some even tried to help Harry and Albus, but the Death Eaters knew their orders. With Harry captured, they were free to play. The battle had begun.

The instant he felt the cloth, Harry knew what was happening. It was the Endless Slumber potion, whose antidote didn't work. He snapped his mouth shut and held his breath as he kicked and clawed at his captor. It wasn't working … he knew he was panicking … he ripped a nail off trying to pry steel-like hands from his face … his lungs were burning …he knew he had to give up and take in air.

He searched for Ginny, determined to see her one last time, and when he spotted her fiercely kicking and fighting her way back to him, he focused all his energy on her beautiful face and drew in air. And suddenly, unbelievably, Harry felt a great rush of air leaving his lungs. He was exhaling – not inhaling – he desperately tried again but the result was the same.

He felt dizzy and weak and tired and defeated … and he wondered at the irony of dying during a funeral … wouldn't Voldemort be disappointed … he felt his body drop to the ground … why had Greyback let him go … he looked around wildly, but there was a thick haze covering his eyes … were those Death Eater robes standing directly above him … someone was saying something … he opened his mouth in one last, feeble attempt to bring in oxygen … and this time his lungs filled with sweet, fresh air.

Across the way …

… As Harry had been trying to fight off the wolfman … Albus wanted to help, he prayed he wasn't seeing what he feared he was, but he was cut off from the boy so he instead tried to get to Tom Riddle. Now that Voldemort had made the first move – had been the one to instigate battle on sacred ground – Albus was more than willing to fight. The problem was Voldemort didn't seem willing to go one-on-one with him.

… As Harry had been searching out Ginny, knowing he needed to breathe … Voldemort stood behind Aberforth's casket, using it as a sort of shield to keep Albus at bay. "You surprise me," he called out as a spell missed him by a hair. "Such nasty spells … one would almost think you are actually trying to defeat me for a change."

… As Harry had been exhaling against his will … Albus replied, "You'll find that much has changed since last we met." To emphasis his point, the arrow from a concrete Cupid went sailing toward Tom's heart.

… As Harry had considered an ironic death … Voldemort deflected the arrow at the last second and retaliated by sending a lasso of fire to capture his former teacher. Dodging the lasso along with curses from Avery and Carrow took Albus even further away from the funeral – from Harry. He'd strayed so far he'd completely left the burial site with its protections, enchantments, and cleared ground, tripping and nearly falling over a low grave marker.

... As Harry had fallen to the ground ... Voldemort had been ready to push his advantage and destroy the stumbling Dumbledore when he caught sight of one of his own Death Eaters blasting Greyback away from Potter.

"Traitor," he cried as he turned and pointed his wand at the man. _"Crucio!"_

The Traitor grabbed the arm of another Death Eater and shoved him into the path of the curse. "So sorry, Gamp," he sarcastically offered to the man writhing on the ground. Taking advantage of the spectacle, he reached down and pulled Harry to his feet. "Take him," he barked out as he shoved the trembling boy toward Minerva.

"Professor," Harry croaked.

"Save it, Potter," Snape snapped as he turned his attention back to his former master. With a flick of his wand he sent one of the floral bouquets sailing into the path of another of Voldemort's curses. "Consider this my resignation, you bastard," he called out as he pulled off the hated mask and threw it to the ground.

"Flowers, Severus? Have your years at the fool's side made you soft? You disappoint me." He didn't call out any spell but Snape was smart enough to dodge anyway. The energy pulse side-swiped Snape before impacting with whomever had been behind him – thankfully a Death Eater.

The moment Harry had been thrust into her arms, Minerva had turned the weak and wheezing teen toward the center of the area, as it was the best protected spot at the moment. She pulled his back to her chest and held him in what felt like a protective cocoon. Poppy Pomfrey was at his side instantly to help him recover from his ordeal. A third person – Ginny, he realized – filled in the remaining gap so that he was temporarily blocked from the Death Eaters.

"Slow and calm, Harry," Poppy encouraged as she tapped her wand against his chest.

As much as he hated the thought of three women shielding him, he took advantage of the reprieve to not only catch his breath and clear his head, but also survey the battle.

Molly Weasley was fiercely battling a Death Eater who was as interested in taunting as he was harming – which Harry hoped would be his downfall. Charlie, bless his heart, was behind his mother, not that it helped much, as he was taller than her and he kept thrusting his little red toy wand around her side and shouting nonsense things like "wambam" and "kazoowie".

Greyback stood off to the side, licking the wounds inflicted by Snape. Harry doubted it would be long before he rejoined the fight. In fact, the way the rotter's eyes were watching Ginny made him uneasy.

Several of the mourners were huddled behind a large body that could only belong to Hagrid. Thank Merlin he'd brought his pink umbrella, which Harry spotted swishing through the air. Straining his eyes, he found elderly Bathilda Bagshot and Abe's childhood friend Finster Fletchley in the huddle. The two cowards, Mr. Chicken and Mr. Crabby, were also there … and Harry cussed when he noticed one of them trying to push Bathilda between himself and a Death Eater's line of sight.

By far the biggest surprise was Madam Rosmerta. No cowering for her – she was standing tall and fierce, defiantly pointing her wand at an unmasked Death Eater with a scruffy beard and such a ridiculously short pony tail the hair stuck straight out. "Knew I was right to kick your scrawny arse outta my life," she was telling him, "I've known goblins that were better men than you."

"Ready love?" a gentle voice asked, and Harry turned his attention back to Ginny and nodded. "Then here," she said as she put his wand back in his hand, "now go get 'em, silly boy."

With that, she dramatically spun around and unleashed her wand on the nearest idiot in a mask. Whoever he was, he might be used to fighting your average wizard, but he was unprepared for the wrath of a protective Weasley woman.

"That's my girl," Harry said to himself as Ginny's opponent stumbled over from a powerful stinging curse to his groin.

Following her example, Harry took on a Death Eater of his own and very quickly realized something very important. While he'd seen nasty (or downright deadly) curses being used around Albus and Snape, the spells being used on the main crowd of people were less severe. _'Probably afraid they'll hit me,'_ Harry thought, once again thankful Voldemort still believed he was a Horcrux. According to Snape, the last Death Eater to seriously injure Harry in a fight had paid a heavy price.

That thought gave Harry a battle plan, of sorts. Stick as close as he could to the throng of people to keep as many as possible safe. It was tricky to spread himself around the group as much as possible yet still be effective and stay safe, but he thought he was doing well enough. But then a forgotten amplified voice cut through the crowd.

"Please, please, please have mercy … please have mercy." It was funeral director Wazzock, who Harry realized was still wrapped around himself on the ground by the coffin. The man was speaking to no one in particular; in fact, he had his eyes shut tight, leading Harry to believe he wasn't so much begging for mercy as he was muttering to himself. He'd probably forgotten the amplification charm was even on.

"I'll put you out of your misery," Greyback growled and before Harry or anyone else could react, Greyback had trounced on the poor man and was ripping into his flesh with his bare hands.

A blast from the left sent Greyback flying through the air but the damage was done. Wazzock could only gurgle as he desperately tried to push his neck back together, but even Harry could see it was a hopeless gesture. It was Pomfrey who reacted first, sending a strong stunner at the man. "Best we can do is spare him the pain," she offered.

A chilling laugh filled the area. An openly amused Voldemort was standing at Abe's coffin, using it like a pulpit as he oversaw the carnage. It was unsettling to see Voldemort behaving as if the entire fight was being staged for his pleasure. Perhaps, Harry darkly reasoned, it was. Voldemort wasn't even engaging Albus anymore, just shouting out things like "age is slowing you down, old man" as Albus fought two Death Eaters at one time.

It was those two Death Eaters that Harry actually considered the biggest threat. For while the others took care to not harm Harry, they seemed to have forgotten Harry was even here.

Indeed, they were caught up in their fight with 'the great Dumbledore', clearly enjoying the challenge. By now they'd noticed they were outside the Disapparation Jinx and they took full advantage by vanishing from spot to spot to evade Albus' spells, staying in each new place only long enough to send out a violent curse or two. It was a dangerous strategy – at any moment they could Apparate into the line of fire – but then again, common sense often took second place to aggression in the heat of battle.

The true problem was, they were taking very little time to actually aim their own spells. As a result, they were as likely to hit someone in the main crowd or even nothing at all as they were to hit Albus.

Harry briefly considered assisting his guardian but he knew he needed to help protect the bystanders. Besides, while Albus wasn't winning, per say (which actually surprised Harry), he wasn't losing either. _'But if that changes …'_

The fighting grew hectic for a time … Harry rescued a mourner who was dangling above the ground by using Libracorpus as Snape growled "you dare use my spell? You're mine, Goyle!" … he forced Greyback to back off when the wolf looked like he was ready to make a move on a distracted Ginny … he jumped out of Rosmerta's way as she abandoned her wand to stomp on her ex-boyfriend-turned-Death-Eater with the heels of her shoes ... Ginny's robes caught fire at one point, but a quick spray of water resolved that problem … Harry grabbed Charlie by the back of his robes to stop him from running toward a Death Eater that called Molly a very nasty name …Minerva transfigured a Death Eater's mask into a plate of solid stone; the added weight of which caused his head to fall forward, taking his body to the ground ... Harry stole the idea and transfigured another's shoes into live ferrets, which turned feral and began clawing and biting the man.

By now, Harry had zigged and zagged enough that he was on the opposite side of the clearing as Voldemort. Albus, Carrow, and Avery were even further away, barely noticeable amongst the ancient towering grave markers.

At least he knew who those three were; he was finding it nearly impossible to keep track of other individuals. He was purposely weaving amongst the mourners, who in turn were moving about, and with three Weasleys in the mix, red hair only told him so much. The Death Eaters, too, moved about, although they tended to maintain their loose circle so as to keep anyone from escaping.

Harsh laughter from the outer edge of the battle caught Harry's ear and he spun about, jabbed his wand toward the nearest masked man, and shouted the first curse that came to mind. A streak of light sped forward but just before it found its target it impacted an invisible barrier where it sizzled and crackled before it exploded in a flash of turquoise sparks.

"Was that supposed to do something, Potter?" his target mocked; but the voice gave him away. It was Yaxley, one of Voldemort's smartest and craftiest Death Eaters.

"Why don't you stop hiding behind that mask, Yaxley," Harry shouted back, "and I'll show you what it's supposed to do."

To his surprise, Yaxley's mask fell to the ground, leaving Harry staring at his ugly face. Stepping forward, Harry prepared to take another shot when an ferocious snarl cut through the air and both he and Yaxley turned to find its source.

It was Hagrid. He'd abandoned his umbrella and was using his size to protect the smaller, frailer bodies of Bathilda and Finster. Since he was known to be thick-skinned the Death Eaters had stepped up their attack. Instead of spells that stung or irritated they were tossing out cutting curses, burning jinxes, and even the occasional blasting hex. Even Hagrid could only withstand so much – his cries of pain were testament to that – yet he continued to throw himself in the path of spell after spell to protect the people behind him. Unfortunately, blood trickling down his cheek told Harry his friend was wearing down.

Desperately wanting to wipe the dirt with his opponent, who was cruelly laughing at Hagrid's predicament, Harry gritted his teeth and pushed away everything else … Ginny telling someone to do something with a Hippogriff … "Confringo" being called out … a distant shriek of "_Dumbledore_". He jabbed his wand forward …

But Yaxley was faster … he was already yelling out his curse when a blur of white feathers dropped down from nowhere and viciously plucked Yaxley's wand from his hand.

Brilliant, beautiful Hedwig had arrived at just the right moment! Harry nearly cheered at the sight of Hedwig winging away with Yaxley's wand clutched in her talons. But unnoticed by Harry, Voldemort had also seen the attack and he casually called out the killing curse as he aimed at the owl.

Harry was too shocked at the thought – that Voldemort would be so cruel as to kill a helpless animal (though he really shouldn't be) – to block the curse in time. And Hedwig was flying the other direction; she couldn't see it, couldn't even hear Harry's frantic warning. The green light was almost there when a reddish-golden blur appeared next to Hedwig. For a moment, Harry thought he was lost in the past again, as Fawkes devoured the deadly curse, burst into flame, and fell to the ground a newborn chick. Only this time the phoenix had sacrificed himself for Hedwig instead of Albus. He'd think about what _that_ meant later.

And thinking of Albus … Harry spared a second to check on his guardian, only to realize he couldn't find him. Apparently, neither could Carrow and Avery, unless all three had picked a most inappropriate time to have a scavenger hunt. Looking back, he found someone else had engaged Yaxley, giving him a slight reprieve. He glanced down to the tiny, wrinkled form of Fawkes, once again awed by the bird's amazing ability to be born again and again – and just like that, something clicked in the back of his mind.

They'd performed the ritual. _Voldemort was mortal again._ Earlier, Albus had stopped Harry from striking first, as he would damn his own soul if he was the aggressor on holy ground. Would killing Voldemort now, after the battle had begun, be equally wrong? He rather thought he didn't care.

Getting a clear view by stepping to the left, he calmly took aim. He was further away than he would like, but today that wasn't going to be problem. And he would do this non-verbally, he decided, so the monster wouldn't have any warning. _'Sectumsempra!'_

The spell nearly made contact, but Voldemort wasn't just a Dark Lord because he looked scary and liked the way it sounded. A sixth sense warned him a curse was coming and he carelessly tossed the body of the funeral director into its path. Harry's spell cut the body cleanly in half; one piece bounced off Abe's coffin to land near his broken tombstone while the other half fell into the open grave.

"Does Severus know you're using one of his spells, Harry?" Voldemort called out. "He doesn't like to share, our Severuss." His words were followed by a burst of nasty crimson light leaving his wand.

Harry countered with an Entrail-Expelling Curse which collided with Voldemort's close enough it made Harry flinch. Recovering quickly, he jerked his wand sharply upward as he twirled sideways to break the connection. Harry's spell likewise jerked upward, obliterating a tree in the distance. Voldemort's went wide right, taking a squirrel by surprise.

Just as Harry turned back, the dirt that had been removed from Abe's grave slammed into him with enough force to toss him to the ground, where he was buried alive by its weight.

Three thoughts flashed through Harry's mind – he couldn't see, getting up wasn't happening, and that hurt! His glasses kept the worst of the dirt from his eyes but they still stung and watered so he squeezed them tightly shut. Breathing became a chore, both from the weight on his chest and the specks of dirt that flew up his nose with each inhale. Where he'd taken the brunt of the attack, just below his heart, felt like he'd been punched by Dudley numerous times.

He dully heard someone calling him which helped him focus on what he had to do. He switched to slowly sucking in air through his teeth in an effort to hold out the dirt. Trying to move, he succeeded in kicking one leg mostly free but his top half was rather well stuck. Already, the fingers on his left hand tingled as the heavy weight threatened to cut off its blood supply. Clenching the fingers on his other hand, he was relieved to feel his wand still there.

He estimated it was pointing somewhere above his right ear – and was hopefully still in one piece – so he concentrated with all his might, intent on vanishing the dirt around his head. To his delight, a small space opened up near his ear.

Lucky Harry, it was just in time to hear Voldemort calling out above the noise. "You see? See how easy that was? _Now take him_!"

Harry scrambled to get himself free. As he vanished more of the dirt, exposing his ear and much of his hair, a large hand shoved away most of what covered his nose and mouth. He sucked in a deep breath, coughing from all the dirt in his throat. Seconds later, the same hand cleared his eyes. He lost his glasses from that, but even Harry can see well enough to make out the black tangled mess Hagrid called hair.

Of course, it helped that Hagrid was extremely close by this point. His two massive hands were reaching to pull Harry free when several spells hit him in the chest and shoulder at virtually the same time. Thrown off balance, Hagrid stumbled backward, narrowly missing Finster Fletchley as he landed on his behind.

Goyle Senior instantly made his own attempt to grab Harry, but he'd approached from the wrong end and Harry kicked out with his free leg and scored a direct hit. Before Goyle could try again Molly leapt forward and attacked Harry's would-be attacker.

Harry finally managed to work his right arm free when the remaining dirt turned into harmless, weightless cotton balls. Not wasting time, he summoned his glasses, jumped back to his feet and searched out his true enemy.

Voldemort was right were Harry had left him, behind Abe's coffin.

Through the moving bodies of the other combatants, green eyes locked with red and each understood the other. Voldemort was willing to kill every other person present – even his own people – in order to get Harry; and Harry intended to kill Voldemort. In the next instant, Harry felt Voldemort's amusement … amused that Harry thought he could be killed. And in horror, he wrenched his eyes away, praying that in his thirst for victory, he hadn't allowed Voldemort to look too deeply. That Voldemort hadn't discovered what Abe's death had bought.

"Go for the others! _Kill them_," Voldemort screamed to his men, "but they must be slow deaths in case Potter plays hero and gets in the way. _I NEED HIM ALIVE._"

As both sides redoubled their efforts, Harry wondered what had become of his dad. He glanced quickly to where Carrow and Avery had been searching but no one was there now. What he did spot, however, was Molly Weasley lying on the ground convulsing. Some bastard dared use the Cruciatus on her.

He spun to find the elder Goyle cackling as he cursed the woman and raised his wand to strike when someone beat him to it.

Charlie Weasley, who had been remarkably lucky to remain uninjured, was running toward the bad man brandishing his little red wand. "No," he shouted when he was only a few feet away, "you leave my mummy alone!" His toy wand was pointed directly at the scary man, whose laughter quickly turned into a scream as he was suddenly lifted into the air and thrown several yards away.

Leaving Molly to her son, Harry once again searched for Albus. For a second he thought he spotted him far off in the distance but his attention was diverted when Madam Rosmerta yelled out in a shaky voice. "What now? We can't keep this up forever. They're not playing anymore."

"I need to find D-Dumbledore. You help keep everyone together," Harry urged as he noted Snape taking on Yaxley. "_Expelliarmus," _he shot at the Death Eater, "if we separate they'll pick us off one by one."

No sooner had he said the words than they came true. The two he'd dubbed Misters Crabby and Chicken decided they had just enough courage to make a run for it and, seeing a large gap in the circle of Death Eaters, tried to escape. Harry and Minerva both felt obliged to keep the unarmed idiots from being killed. Minerva managed to protect one of them as he successfully dashed through the line of black cloaks. Unfortunately, instead of running for safety, he turned back to wait for his friend.

Harry, however, misjudged Mr. Crabby's speed, causing his shield charm to miss its target. A Death Eater who'd caught sight of the escape attempt had better luck – Mr. Crabby fell to the ground, out cold and bleeding heavily.

Seconds later, the too-shocked-too-move Mister Chicken joined him. Not that Harry noticed; someone screeching out his name caught his attention. He looked up … and there it was … a purple jet of light nearly on top of him. He hurriedly skipped to the left, avoiding the hex but knocking into Minerva.

Trying to keep her balance, Minerva couldn't avoid the splintering spell that cost her her wand. It might have been at that moment that Harry realized just how brilliantly devious his teacher was. In the blink of an eye, she transformed into her cat self and disappeared amidst the tangle of human legs and broken chairs, virtually invisible to the Death Eater wands. Confident she was safe, Harry engaged their attacker.

Unfortunately, that was when the inevitable happened. As Harry had been concentrating on the escaping idiots, Professor Kitty, and Death Eater A, Death Eater B saw an opening and took it.

It was the pain of bones shattering that was Harry's undoing. It was too much on top of his over-abused lungs, his bruised and aching chest, a throbbing ankle he didn't even remember twisting, and that bloody pain in his bloody scar_._ His hand seized, his knees buckled, and little black dots danced before his eyes. He unknowingly dropped his wand as he staggered to the ground, numbly looking at this right arm in shock. It had more angles in it than an arm is supposed to have and blood flowed freely along its surface, onto his hand, down his fingers, and dripped to the ground. He wondered if that white stuff was bone … not that it mattered, he was probably going to sick up regardless.

Poppy rushed to his kneeling form, kneeling herself so she could work on his arm. Harry calmed considerably as the pain eased and the blood flow slowed. His churning stomach settled down and he looked up to thank her when she suddenly gasped and fell into him – and Harry wrapped his arms around her to keep her from knocking them the rest of the way to the ground. And then Minerva was there, pulling Poppy away from Harry and into her own arms.

Harry dumbly looked from his hands, now both coated in blood, up to the two women. He couldn't decipher the strange look on Minerva's face, but Madam Pomfrey's painful grimace was easy to understand and the trickle of blood from her lips was most telling.

"Don't worry … about me, Mi—Harry," she ground out, "you just … keep yourself one piece … so you don't … more work … when we … back."

He opened his mouth to reply – but there was an ear-bursting squeal like metal being bent against its will as a new wind storm blasted through the clearing, tossing chairs and debris into the air and pushing several people to the ground.

As the winds fell away, Harry realized what had happened. When Albus had escaped Carrow and Avery, he hadn't left (not that Harry thought he had), he'd only made himself invisible – _'cause he doesn't need a cloak for that' _– and gone to work dismantling Voldemort's Disapparation Jinx.

Based upon the iron rod being shoved through his skull, Voldemort, too, knew what had occurred. Thankfully for Harry, several trees in the distance burst into flames as Voldemort vented his anger and the pain in his head receded accordingly.

As he reached for his wand, the scuffed toe of a black boot lightly kicked it toward him. "Time to go, Potter," Snape snapped. His wand was barely in his hand as Snape pulled him to his feet.

"No … please," Harry begged, sensing Snape was preparing to Apparate. He looked his professor in the eye, determined to make him understand. "This is my chance. I just need help holding my arm steady so I can get a clean shot."

For the tiniest of seconds, Snape stared into his eyes. "Quickly," he commanded, roughly grasping Harry's right wrist and helping him aim.

Eyes briefly flickering to his uncle's wooden casket, then focusing on his target, Harry roared "_SECTUMSEMPRA_". The sheer power in the spell nearly wrenched him from Snape's grasp, sending their joined hands slapping into Snape's chest. Harry barely noticed; he was watching the spell force its way through whatever shield Voldemort had erected, though it veered slightly as it did so, slashing through the devil's shoulder instead of his neck.

Voldemort's beastly howl brought the battle to a stop as every eye turned to find its source. What they found was unbelievable yet shockingly true. The Dark Lord Voldemort stood before them, his good arm cradling his other, which was dangling by precious few tendons, the shoulder a gruesome mess. His wand had fallen, forgotten, to the ground.

One second ticked by … and another … and in the third, Voldemort summoned his wand to his left hand and in the fourth, he disappeared.

The fifth second was silent again, but in the sixth Harry felt himself being sucked away. If Apparition truly is instantaneous, then in the seventh second Harry reappeared in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Looking over his shoulder, he found a battered Snape standing close, his fingers still around Harry's wrist.

"Battle to the death, Potter, and you choose a disarming spell?" he growled.

Confused for a moment, Harry finally remembered what he'd done to Yaxley. "I was thinking of you, Professor. Didn't want to spoil all your fun."

The look on Snape's face was unreadable – Harry couldn't tell if he was about to thank him or take 100 points from Gryffindor. Snape lightly shook his head, the slightest hint of a smile on his face, and sighed.

"I don't know about you, Potter, but I could use a stiff drink before returning to the castle. It is unlikely whomever is summoned from St. Mungo's will allow either of us any such treat once we're in their tender care."

With that, he dropped Harry's arm and headed for the cupboard where Harry knew they good stuff was kept.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes: **I wrote this battle in a different style than I normally use – it seemed to need something special to convey the fight was quick and confusing. I hope I succeeded in portraying that.

So … hallowed ground. First, allow me to remind you that the ground is the only hallowed thing in this story (elder wand, schmelder wand). Second, it makes sense to me that Albus would be worried about condemning souls to hell. He does, after all, believe there are things worse than death; presumably, eternity in hell is one of them.


	40. Caught in the Storm

**Jinkies, I think I've solved the mystery. This isn't an original Rowling manuscript at all. It's a knockoff written by some nobody that didn't even get paid to write it. Not even in Scooby Snacks!**

**.**

**. **

**Chapter 40 – Caught in the Storm**

To call the days following Aberforth Dumbledore's aborted funeral hectic would be like calling Grindelwald merely mistaken. In other words, grossly understated.

First and foremost, the injuries and casualties needed dealt with. The most notable of the latter, at least in Harry's mind, being his 'personal' nurse, Madam Pomfrey. Unfortunately, hers wasn't the only life lost that day.

True, without their eyes inside the enemy's camp the Order didn't know if any Death Eaters had perished, but based on eye-witness accounts and a couple overly large pools of blood at least one might have. The body count definitely included the funeral director and the two cowards who tried to surrender themselves; one had been killed on the spot, the second had succumbed to his injuries at St. Mungo's. Harry never even learned their names.

Of the rest, Hagrid's shoulder injury proved the most resistant to healing. The mangled muscles and twisted tendons were rebuilt but he was told they would never work exactly the same, leaving his arm permanently stiff. Most of the remaining injuries were minor – magically speaking – and fixed on the spot, including Finster Fletchley's reversed knees, a nasty burn on Rosmerta's leg, and Charlie's missing teeth (despite his insistence he whistled better without them). Minerva's hand was likewise fixed with a quick trip to St. Mungo's, along with Molly's Poison-Ivy-on-the-Inside Curse. Her missing clumps of hair, they assured the Weasley Mum, would grow back naturally.

Harry's shattered elbow, being not so minor, required special care in the school's infirmary. He'd been forced to stay the night, but at least he'd had company. Ginny, who'd already been healed head to toe, insisted she felt light-headed and dizzy – she even managed to faint twice – until finally she'd been shoved into the bed next to Harry's "for observation".

On his other side was Snape, who by rights should have been sent to St. Mungo's so all the various curses, jinxes, and hexes could be sorted out. In hind sight, Harry was surprised the man had still been standing at the end of the battle, let alone stayed lucid enough to finish off several shots of whiskey and still correctly floo to the school. But if there was anyone more stubborn than Harry, it was Severus Snape. When they'd finally arrived from Grimmauld Place, he'd stalked his way to the infirmary in his dirt-covered, blood-encrusted clothes, dragging the bloody Harry along, and when he arrived he planted himself on a bed and refused to be moved. His recovery would take longer than if he'd gone to the hospital, but at least at Hogwarts he could still terrorize some students and after all, it's important the patient keep in good spirits.

Harry escaped the infirmary the next day and, as was his way, spent large amounts of time feeling guilty over Poppy's death. Many of his friends offered the usual clichés … "it wasn't your fault" … "she wouldn't want you to blame yourself" … "she was getting up there, she was probably about ready to go anyway" (that one, of course, was from a well-intentioned Ron). It was words from his emergency visit to Dr. Tony that helped the most – "In any war people are going to die, Harry. Remember the dead. Honor the dead. But go out and live."

Publicly, news of Voldemort's attack at Headmaster Dumbledore's brother's funeral spread like Fiendfyre and the outrage over violence at such a sacred affair was everything Albus had predicted and then some.

It began with articles and letters from outraged individuals appearing in the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler – the latter also running a three-part series on the dangers of angering the Penumbra Cryptids , the guardians of the cemeteries. Then speeches were being made on the floor of the Wizengamot and the steps of a heavily guarded Gringotts and eventually the street corners of Hogsmeade – all denouncing You Know Who and his barbaric ways. The fact that elderly Bathilda Bagshot suffered a fatal heart attack in her sleep two nights after the battle only added magic to the fire.

Outrage reached a new high on that Saturday, when Lester Stebbins' family publicly named him as a marked supporter, all but demanding the Aurors come and arrest the boy. That same evening, a Knockturn Alley business well known for its owners' Voldemort sympathies was nearly destroyed in a riot.

Unfortunately, Albus' other prediction also proved true. The more the public cried out against the dark lord, the more vicious his Death Eaters became in their attacks. Minister Bluestreak had to implement a no-wand policy for Levels Five through Eight of the Ministry and all other levels were closed to visitors without official business in that area. Privately, he'd hidden his family home using the Fidelius Charm and he urged his department heads to do the same. While no national curfew was set, most took it upon themselves to be inside their protected homes before dark. Many businesses, even the Three Broomsticks, actually closed their doors half an hour before nightfall.

In the little world known as Hogwarts, emotions echoed those outside the gates.

Each of the four Houses banded together, finally resembling the families they were supposed to be all along, with the older students looking after the youngest. In the halls and at meal times, groups of friends openly embraced each other, often leading to embarrassing public displays. Even the manlier men – the Quidditch stars and deadly creature aficionados – could be heard (with liberal use of eavesdropping charms) confessing "I … er … loveyoutoo" to their friends.

Another way Hogwarts echoed the general public was in politics. The same night of the Knockturn Alley riot, an explosion nearly destroyed the potions classroom. The Dark Mark was found burned into its wooden door. Harry raged for hours when he heard about it … things like "How can they not see – he doesn't care what the cost … what the evil …," and "Don't they realize he'd kill every last one of his own followers if it assured him power and victory?" … disgusted that there were still students stupid enough to follow the crazed man. Hermione secretly recorded his words, thinking it a rather impassioned speech.

So yes, there were still Dumb-arse Eaters (as Seamus took to loudly if not foolishly calling them) in the castle, but they'd been driven to hiding in the dark and shadows and were clearly outnumbered. The DA was as strong as ever, and students that didn't belong looked to those that did for protection and guidance. Over twenty students had already approached Harry's friends about joining the DA, and Hermione's newest loyalty pledge helped insure their sincerity. Ron had wanted Unbreakable Vows from all members stating they were not now, nor would they ever become, followers of Voldemort, but Hermione had talked him out of it. Although, Harry noticed, she was awfully slow to do so.

There was no way Harry could deny it; the war was rapidly coming to a head.

On Sunday, the school held a closed memorial service for their fallen nurse, Pollyanna "Poppy" Pomfrey. Her death – senseless and heroic as it was – hit many students in a strange way that even Cedric Diggory's hadn't. She, after all, hadn't volunteered for deadly adventures.

Harry decided to skip the memorial, instead spending the hour in the Room of Requirement beating the stuffing out of three dark-robed dummies that were standing in for their living counterparts. After one particularly powerful spell sent one figure's hand ricocheting toward his head, he laughed hysterically as he reminded himself there was no Nurse Pomfrey to patch him up if he got hurt.

True, he knew that Aide Merriweather, the gentle grandmotherly nurse that had helped when he'd suffered from Boiling Blood the year before, was overseeing the infirmary until a new matron was contracted. And he vaguely remembered liking the sweet old lady. But it wouldn't be the same. She wouldn't tease him about getting injured just to see her or tell him stories about his father's and godfather's antics.

Those thoughts made him particularly aggressive and soon the dummies were nothing more than a pile of rubble. He flexed his repaired arm and gave a nod of satisfaction before turning his attention to a new group. With every hit he began taunting his lifeless targets – shouting the things at them that he wished he could shout at Voldemort.

"That's for Hagrid," he shouted as he separated an arm from a short and plump stand-in looking vaguely like Amycus Carrow.

With another flick of his wand, the dummy's legs were yanked out from under it, causing it to topple and slam its head into the hard floor. "And that's for Charlie, you bastard!"

"I hardly think such a title can be applied to a manmade object, Potter."

Swirling around, Harry aimed his wand without thought, so he was almost surprised to find Snape standing straight and calm, his arms crossed over his chest as if he was bored. "Sorry," he offered as he lowered his wand.

"For your incompetence? I should think so. You didn't even hear me enter," the Professor scolded. "Sloppy, Potter. Very sloppy."

"I wasn't expecting … how did you get in here anyway? This room is supposed to be inaccessible."

"Obviously, you _required_ me," Snape replied with an air of superiority. "Or more accurately, my assistance."

It was said with a sneer, but Harry got the feeling there wasn't any real hate in it. In fact, if he had to guess, he would say the tone was almost … _almost_ … sincere. Biting back a snarky comment of his own, Harry said (in the politest voice he could muster), "Is that an offer, Professor?"

Instead of responding, Snape slowly circled the area, studying the Death Eater mannequins.

"Death Eaters attack in packs … but they seldom stay together," he finally said. "You have them grouped too closely. One should be over there," he pointed several yards away, "and another hidden somewhere … behind that cabinet should suffice." With a lazy swing of his wand, all three dummies were repaired and two were sent to their new locations."

Turning to Harry with a sadistic grin, he added, "and of course, they would fight back."

The words had barely left Snape's mouth when a grape-sized pellet came barreling at Harry, who responded as if it was the deadliest of curses. He dodged and fought, avoiding or reflecting nearly all incoming faux-spells as he scored hit after hit until these dummies, too, were decimated.

"Acceptable, Potter … if you don't mind being childless … which is actually a pleasing scenario … so perhaps we shall call that Exceeds Expectations."

"Wha …" Harry began before looking down to see the white chalky stains that indicated hits by the attackers – one of which was just left of a very delicate area. "Alright," he began again, "how do you know what spell it was?"

"Our first clue is it's target – and I find myself strangely sorry for Miss Weasley that you don't understand its significance. A curse aimed toward that specific area would most likely be a particularly vicious sterility jinx which, if not tended quickly, becomes permanent. It happens to be a favorite of both Carrow and Yaxley, who think of it as an insurance policy should their victims escape. I think we can assume you will have one or two tossed your way when next your paths shall cross."

Harry nearly shuddered, though whether it was from remembering Ron's fate or from what he was about to do, he couldn't say. "Can you … teach me how to recognize that one, Professor? And what to do if I spot it."

"As tempting as a Potterless future is … I suppose I owe you for making the bastard bleed. You've no idea how I've wished to do that over the years. Pay attention."

Taken by surprise at Snape's easy agreement, Harry could only nod dumbly. Without commenting on Harry's lack of vocal skills, Snape launched into a description of the curse so detailed he wondered if it was another of the Half Blood Prince's creations. Wisely, he didn't ask.

"Now keep in mind," Snape concluded, "the spell needs to hit near the appropriate area to be effective, meaning if it hits an extremity it will cause nothing more than mild stinging. I trust you understand the implications."

"Yeah, if I can't get out of the way, let it hit my hand and not my … er … "

"Yes, yes, let us leave it unnamed. Your late godfather was rather fond of calling his Vlad the Impaler … he even wrote a poem about it … which, if memory serves, was somehow switched for a homework assignment and turned in to Professor McGonagall." Something about the man's smirk told Harry he knew exactly how. "Suffice it to say, you are better off not emulating the man in this regard. Now, shall I test you?"

It took Harry barely a second to reply. "_No_ … but thanks." No way was he going to let Snape aim a curse there, no matter how helpful the man was suddenly being. In an odd way, he feared Snape's wand more than he did Carrow or Yaxley, which wasn't all that surprising given his knowledge of the Prince's spells. As far as he knew, neither Carrow nor Yaxley were that inventive.

"It is just as well," Snape sighed, "the Headmaster was expecting you ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes! Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was you who did not think to question my appearance," Snape smirked back, and Harry knew it was futile to argue the point. "Come then, Potter. I shall escort you."

Feeling he had little choice, Harry straightened his clothes and pocketed his wand before following Snape from the room. As the door melted away he followed behind his professor in a quiet that wasn't exactly uncomfortable, yet almost was. _'Uncomfortably comfortable … that's how Remus always described time spent with Sna–'_

"Potter," a voice barked, snapping Harry from his verbal thoughts. "Are you paying any attention whatsoever to what I am saying?"

"Sorry Professor … would you mind repeating?"

Giving Harry a nasty look – the one often used for stupid questions during class – he obliged. "I was complimenting your overall performance at the funeral. Given the situation, your unwillingness to allow the innocents to be sacrificed was commendable; although now I'm wondering if it was more lack of common sense than bravery."

"I've always thought the two went hand in hand," Harry said without thinking.

"Given your past actions, I would agree with your assessment. But I do wonder …you have faced the dark lord several times now, and survived certainly, but never could I say you have been the victor. Do you really think you can ever hope to defeat him?"

Harry stopped walking and waited until Snape did the same. "I _will_ vanquish him," he said, careful in his phrasing so Snape would truly understand what he was saying. It was said with the certainty one normally used to say things like 'I'm a wizard' or 'you are an idiot', and Snape was suddenly very glad in the choice he'd made years ago.

"And stop calling him dark lord," Harry added as an after thought. "You're not playing Death Eater anymore and you don't have to pretend to like him so stop showing him that respect. His name is Voldemort … er, well really it isn't, it's Tom." With a slowly forming grin he continued, "yeah … Tom Riddle the Second … or Tommy if you'd rather, and really, Professor, you've always been one to call people by their proper name."

With a matching grin (a sight that sent a passing student stumbling into a wall) Snape replied, "Very well. I wish you luck in your endeavor to defeat Mister Riddle."

"Tommy."

"Tom," Snape conceded, although as he did so his grin gave way to a genuine smile. Harry smiled back, pushing aside the thought that Snape's nose looked slightly more sinister when he showed that many teeth. The man was, after all, a master Legilimens.

"Stop that," Harry finally chided, "you're scaring your students."

If possible, Snape's smile got larger. A strange whining noise drew Harry's attention to the Hufflepuff who's stumbled into the wall. He and his friend were now standing completely still, their mouths hanging open in disbelief. Snape acknowledged them with a roll of his eyes before he turned and continued his trek to Albus' office. After an apologetic shrug in the students' direction, Harry quickly fell in step beside him.

They walked in silence for a time, but there was something Harry wanted to ask, so with a sideways glance he decided to take advantage of Snape's good mood. He casually cast "Muffliato" so he could speak freely – and catching Snape's quirked eyebrow, he added, "oh please … we both know you know that I know your old spells."

When Snape didn't get snippy in reply, Harry decided to plunge right in. "What happens to you now, Professor?"

"I shan't be packed away in some forgotten cupboard, if that is what you are implying. I am certain I still retain some value to the cause. It's rumored I am rather handy with potions and my skill with a wand it nothing to curse at."

"Right," Harry snorted, "but that's not what I meant. What happens _to you_? Voldemort –"

"I thought we'd agreed to call him Tom?" Snape interrupted.

"Yeah, Tommy … he's not too happy with you right now. He's put quite the price on your head. Whoever brings you to him has been promised treasure beyond treasure, whatever that is."

Snape looked curiously at Harry, who tapped his head to explain how he knew. _'Dang pain potions that don't mix with Muggle pills.'_

"Treasure beyond treasure is one of th—Tom's greatest inventions. By giving it such a grandiose name, he has captured the greed in all men. Yet never once has he indicated what it encompasses and only a simpleton or a fool would dare ask for such details. But to address your concerns, I shall carry on much as I always have: lecturing nitwits, grading mindless drivel, and trying to keep Gryffindors with delusions of grandeur alive. I assure you, I have always been in far greater danger of blasting a bothersome student to dust than being killed by a Death Eater."

Harry found himself nodding in agreement. "What do you think he'll do next?"

"It is not too hard to guess. The attack at the funeral could not have been part of his latest master plan. I presume he felt it was simply too good an opportunity to pass by, so he took a chance. No; aside from capturing you, he has had something else in the works – something I was expected to partake in but which, unfortunately, I had not yet been appraised of. As it has not been compromised, he will likely proceed with his plot once he has healed."

"So … Hogwarts or the Ministry?"

"Quite so." Cancelling Harry's spell, Snape then turned to the impatiently waiting stone guardian and spit out, "Fudge Flies."

Finally arriving in the Headmaster's office Harry wasn't much surprised when Snape was invited to remain. As tea was handed out and Albus shared pleasantries with Snape ("you've grown all your fingernails back, I see"), Harry looked over to Fawkes' perch, where Hedwig seemed to be standing guard over the infant phoenix. She caught his eye and ruffled her feathers proudly, causing Harry to laugh and nearly spill his cup.

A chuckle from behind brought his attention back to the humans in the room. Snape was glaring at his tea while Albus was watching him with that infuriating happy sparkle in his eyes. Taking his seat, Harry opened the conversation. "How badly do you think Voldemort—"

"Tom," Snape snapped.

"Right. How badly was Tom hurt …ah, Headmaster?"

"It is hard to say," Albus answered after a moment of thought. "I believe the wound was certainly survivable, but it is encouraging that he was so easily wounded at all. Not to belittle your attempt, Harry, but normally he is able to dodge or deflect spells when he has such warning. I find myself wondering if the ritual we preformed has done more than simply make him mortal."

Harry was surprised to hear Albus mention the ritual which was, after all, a closely guarded secret.

"You _are_ certain he is mortal, yes?" Snape pressed.

"Did I not tell you as much?" Albus replied in a teasing voice – well, as teasing as one can be discussing such a serious matter.

"You also once told me that no one on this earth could remove the Philosopher's Stone from the Mirror of Erised, so you will understand that I take everything from your mouth with a grain of salt."

Wanting to avoid discussions of his past adventures, Harry blurted out the first thing he could think to say. "What about the rest? The Death Eaters, I mean. Do you think any of them were injured?"

"Aside from minor injuries, I presume you mean? It is known Dolohov took a rather nasty scalping curse which looked survivable," Albus explained, "and Fenrir Greyback will think twice before attacking anyone with red hair, I should think. I believe it was Mister Gamp, was it not Severus …"

"Grus Gamp, Headmaster … runs that second-hand shop in Cardiff … a distant Black relative as I recall … couldn't even stand up to a simple barmaid, the dolt. I tell you, the quality of Death Eaters today is sorely lacking."

"You best hope I don't share your opinion with Madam Rosmerta, Severus, or you may well find yourself drinking watered-down whiskey for a long time to come. But yes, Mister Gamp was certainly put in his place by her muggle methods. The worst of their injuries, I think, can be ascribed to Goyle Senior, whom I believe was the source of the blood pool and, of course, our friend Amycus Carrow, whom I had to remind to respect his elders. I believe they've yet to find a way to adequately re-grow the human tongue."

"I placed a subtle inquiry to an acquaintance in Knockturn Alley," Snape offered, "but have heard nothing back. Either none died from their injuries or the threat of reprisal for helping a known traitor has kept her from responding."

"So in all likelihood our side was the only side to suffer a loss," Harry reasoned, "but Tom still lost the battle, don't you think, because it's turned the public against him?"

"For now," Albus qualified, leading the trio each take a sip of their drink in silence.

"Speaking of the Alley," Harry artfully segued, "has Professor McGonagall been able to replace her wand?"

"We were able to match her to one of the wands hidden in Ollivander's shop. Not perfectly, mind you, but well enough that she can teach unhindered. It is fortunate you were able to find them last summer. I will have to see he receives payment when the shop reopens," Albus rather optimistically added, considering it had been nearly two years since the wand maker's disappearance. Whether he'd gone to ground or been captured, there hadn't been so much as a whisper of his whereabouts since.

"Do you see any other negatives from the battle, Headmaster?" Snape asked when Albus failed to continue speaking.

"You mean aside from me freezing up and nearly getting captured?" Harry spit out.

"That was unfortunate, Harry," Albus gently told him, "but I do not see it as an alarming trend. In this particular case, I feel the extenuating circumstances were as much to blame as anything. To begin with, I believe I gave you a false sense of security, for I did indeed think we were safe at such a solemn event. The protections I placed were more out of habit than any perceived need; though I am immensely glad to have done so. Then too, you were emotionally vulnerable in a way that is out of your norm. And do not forget, despite your small lapse, you performed quite admirably and managed something hereto considered impossible by most ordinary wizards – you drew Voldemort's blood."

Harry took a moment to consider Albus' words, finally deciding they rang true. "About that … you said something earlier about the ritual doing more than we thought," he glanced sideways but saw nothing beyond Snape's normal calm façade. "What did you mean?"

"The ritual was designed to reconnect the sawol (the splintered piece, Severus) to the main soul, the assumption being that there were only those two pieces." Albus began. "Voldemort – or Tom, as the two of you seem to now prefer – divided his soul more than once and as you both are aware, several of the resulting pieces have already been destroyed. As separate entities, the sawols were not dependant upon each other, but united … I suspect they are able to recognize that they are not whole."

"And …" Snape coaxed when Albus didn't appear to be continuing.

"It's like his soul is ill," Harry reasoned. "When I'm sick, I can't perform magic as well as when I'm healthy."

"Precisely, Harry," Albus said with a nod and a smile in the boy's direction. "Tom's soul, for the first time in decades, knows it is unwell. It is not much … perhaps the equivalent of a nasty head cold … but in a situation such as ours, where every advantage counts, it could literally mean the difference between life and death. Had his response been even a second slower, your spell may well have finished him off for good."

"What of Potter's response, Headmaster?" When he received a confused look in reply, Snape elaborated. "The pain in his scar. Correct me if I am wrong, but it was more debilitating than usual."

"Define usual," Harry said. "When I was taken to the graveyard it hurt so much I dropped my wand and fell to my knees. I think I even sicked-up."

"You were also fourteen and not quite as experienced as you are now," Snape countered.

"Severus is correct, Harry. You didn't feel such excruciating pain at the Ministry until he possessed you. Until that moment, the pain was manageable bordering on negligible. How would you rate the pain this time?"

Thinking about it, Harry answered, "The pain was worse than it was in the graveyard, I think, but it's like I'm somewhat immune to it now so I'm able to work through it. Still not as bad as being possessed, though."

"Then we shall be thankful for that small favor. I wonder …" and then Albus jumped form his seat to search his bookshelf for a specific – and apparently quite well hidden – book.

"Use the Untwixilator, Dumbledore," called out a helpful portrait.

"Yes, thank you for the suggestion Dexter," Albus offhandedly said as he bent down to continue his search, "but it was damaged some time ago and has not worked the same since."

A red-faced Harry could feel the eyes of the past masters and mistresses glaring at him.

"Just try it, my boy," the portrait urged. "I should think she has a bit of life left in her."

Rising to inspect a dented silver instrument with a crooked tube sticking from the top that was sitting next to a very tiny bird cage, Albus muttered, "Perhaps … with the right touch." Thus decided, he took the fragile instrument from its safe place and carefully moved it to his desk.

He gave it a gentle tap with his wand, earning him some clanking noises but no puffs of smoke appeared. "Come now," he coaxed it, but it stubbornly remained smoke-less.

"Have Potter give it a go," called out former Headmaster Dilys Derwent from another portrait. "I suspect it's tuned to him now."

"Makes sense," Dexter Fortescue's painted self reasoned, "given it was his emotional outburst that damaged her in the first place."

What Harry really wanted to do at that moment was sink into his seat, but instead he followed Albus' instructions and gently tapped the side of the devise as he concentrated on his memory of the attack at the funeral. The clanking noises grew louder and suddenly, with the whistle of a tea kettle, little puffs of thick smoke, deep blue in color, erupted from the tube. Unlike the last time, as soon as the smoke became a steady stream it immediately split in two. The first stream took the expected shape of a snake but the other was rather indistinct. It certainly seemed snake-like, but that might have been due to its elongated shape. Below its head it had what could have been stubby arms or maybe flimsy wings – Harry really couldn't decide.

He watched, fascinated, as the smoke-snake turned on the other being and attacked. The other dodged and swerved as it used it's stubby appendages to strike back. As they fought the snake darkened to midnight blue bordering on black while the other became a calming sky blue, and as they twisted and weaved the two smokes would occasionally mingle, creating a sort of fog around them. They might have fought forever had the device not reached its limits. With what sounded like a series of hacking coughs the crooked tube on the top shot out a plume of rainbow colored smoke that obliterated the fighting creatures.

When the smoke cleared the creatures were no more and it was obvious the Untwixilator was broke beyond repair. There were large cracks in the silver sides and its top had melted away. "Oh my," Albus exclaimed in a sorrowful voice. "That was certainly enlightening – unexpected, but enlightening."

Harry shot a glance at Snape, who didn't appear any more enlightened than Harry felt. With a shrug he turned back to his guardian and asked, "How so, Sir?"

"It would seem that our interpretation of a certain portion of the prophecy has been entirely wrong."

Harry felt his skin grow cold and he gripped the arms of his chair. "Which part?" he quietly asked.

With the tiniest of glances to Snape, Albus explained. "Neither can live while the other survives. We've been proceeding on the presumption this line simply refers to the need for one of you to be free of the other in order to achieve your life's goals. But this …" he waved his hand toward the wrecked device, "seems to indicate a more literal interpretation." He stopped speaking, appearing to search for words.

"Just spit it out, old man," Snape growled.

With a reproachful glance toward Snape, Albus turned his attention to Harry. "The pain you feel, Harry, has grown worse over time, yes? Of course it has. It is more intense; it occurs more often. I suspect – based on what I've just seen – that if Tom isn't already being similarly affected, he soon will be. Eventually, you each will be unable to function – to live, in a sense – when in the presence of the other. Notice how every direct face-off you've had has strengthened the connection. I wonder, Harry, if you suffer more headaches in general than you've confessed to having?"

"Pretty much all day, every day," he admitted. "It's usually just a dull ache … I barely notice it most times."

Snape glanced between the two. "Are you suggesting that Potter will be unable to perform? That after all this we will lose the war because _Potter's head hurts_?"

"So overdramatic, Severus," Albus chided. "It would take years to reach such a point, and even then I highly doubt Harry would let such a little thing as pain-induced paralysis stop him from fulfilling his destiny. Stubbornness is, after all, at least according to you, a quintessential Gryffindor trait."

"If you think we've got years before we get to that point, then we've nothing to worry about," Harry said to Albus before turning his attention to Snape. "It'll be over long before then."

"Nonetheless," Albus quickly continued, "Severus makes a valid point. After all, did you not just admit to dropping your wand due to pain in Tom's presence?" He waved off Harry's attempt to respond. "There is a pain numbing potion … help me with the name, Severus … it is used by St. Mungo's during reconstructive procedures to stop pain signals from getting to the brain."

"You're speaking of Sawbohnz's Stuporous Solution, Headmaster. It is not recommended for casual use." Turning to Harry, he explained. "This is no muggle drug, Potter. When I say it stops pain I mean totally and completely, with no side effects. I could yank off your finger and you'd not notice unless you saw it happen … or happened to spot the blood dripping to the floor. I could blast a whole straight through your gut and you would only know what I'd done when you fell to the ground a useless heap."

Ignoring Snape's blunt imagery, Albus asked him, "But it could be targeted, could it not? Made so it would only block pain signals from a certain area – say above the shoulders?"

"Are there any other signals happening above his shoulders?" Snape asked before looking almost – not quite, but almost – embarrassed by his comment. "I apologize … that just slipped out. But to answer the question, yes, it can be, although I would require the help of a healer in that regard."

"I know just the man," a smiling Albus replied, "and I'll have him get in touch with you post-haste." As the two professors continued to discuss details of the potion Harry tried his best to follow along, nodding when it seemed appropriate and shrugging noncommittally when it turned too technical. He even managed to politely agree to test Snape's formula, which he instantly knew was a mistake when Albus clapped his hands and beamed.

"Splendid," Albus enthused, "I knew the two of you would come together eventually. And just in time, as Kingsley will no longer be available to work with Harry and I had worried over finding someone qualified to take his place. Rather fortuitous that Severus has recently given up his old hobby and needs something new to occupy his time, wouldn't you agree?"

Glancing at his equally dumbfounded Professor, Harry knew they'd been played by the master. He slumped back in defeat, knowing he couldn't refuse.

"Don't look so glum, child," Albus told him. "You were able to work with Severus earlier today with no ill-effect. Surely you see the value in learning the favorite tricks and spells of the Death Eaters … those tied to the dark mark, perhaps?"

Even Snape couldn't say no after that; instead he ordered Harry to be at his office directly after dinner the next night. With a curt "if that is all?", Snape excused himself.

Once alone, Albus pulled open a desk drawer and tossed a thick bundle of parchment onto the desk within Harry's easy reach. "Aberforth's will," he explained when Harry made no move to take the packet.

Slumping into his seat, Harry waved the papers off. "Just tell me."

"Aside from a few mostly broken and worthless trinkets, a magazine collection of questionable taste, and a painting of our late sister, he has left everything to you – some money in a vault, the land where the bar stood, and his most prized possession …"

"Brian," they said together, then laughed a bittersweet laugh.

Noting the time, Harry excused himself to relax a bit before classes started back up the next day. "Take care to be in your Tower by curfew," Albus called to his retreating back, most likely deducing Harry truly planned to sneak off somewhere cozy with Ginny.

They both knew that since the funeral battle, curfews were being stringently enforced by headcounts in the Common Rooms every evening. The unfortunate Creevey brothers had put this rule to the test its very first night, revealing the rule's unintended consequence of pushing all detentions to Saturday and Sunday afternoons. Harry had no intention of having even more of his precious free time eaten up (this new training with Snape was going to do quite enough of that, he just knew) so he assured his guardian he'd take care.

It didn't take long for life in the castle to fall into its new pattern, although it also didn't take long for the Headmaster to realize that nothing makes children want to do something more than having it be forbidden. To put it bluntly, the student populous was going a bit stir-crazy. To alleviate their sense of imprisonment, Prefects were put in charge of Saturday nights in the Common Rooms, entertaining the youngest students and keeping the older ones from causing too much damage during their 'confinement'. Ron used these times to coerce young students to test new products from the twins while Hermione used the time to openly berate Ron for such behavior. Many of the older Gryffindors learned to kick back and enjoy the weekly show, which one clever Muggleborn had dubbed "Much Ado About Weasley".

The rest of April passed quickly into May and Harry found himself growing more and more restless as the school year crawled toward its end. Battleball games had been left behind so he had more time to work with Snape, homework was beginning to slide, and even Quidditch suffered as he found it hard to concentrate on a mere game.

With every day that went by, Harry became more certain the final battle would occur while he was still a student; and that time was eroding away. The feeling began to make him paranoid – to the point that he'd begun taking a head-count of sorts at every meal just to assure himself those he cared for were present and safe.

When Tonks – or Dora, as he called her in private – was missing from dinner one Wednesday evening, he found himself growing increasingly concerned. Since Remus' disappearance (Harry still called it that despite his belief that Remus would never be returning), the pregnant woman had missed many meals in the Great Hall. His friends tried to convince him this was simply one of those times, but something in his gut screamed that this was different.

Around the time pudding was appearing on the tables he gave in to his growing panic and left to check on the missing professor. Ginny offered to come with him but he waved her off. "No sense in both of us missing out on afters just because I'm a paranoid git."

Paranoid git or not, Harry held his wand at the ready as he slyly entered the Defense classroom. It was empty. Cautiously, he stepped further into the room to look for signs of trouble when he heard a faint groan. Moving quickly up the stairs in the front of the room, he yanked open the office door and found Dora sitting in her chair, doubled over in pain. What had sounded like groans from the classroom where actually animalistic screeches.

As one such screech ended, Dora looked up and spotted Harry. "Oh thank Merlin," she called out. "I sent that blasted elf for help ages ago. But where's the nurse?" she added as she tried to look behind him.

Harry was confused. There she was asking for help, and clearly she was in pain, but Harry didn't see any signs of an attack. There wasn't even a tray of food or out-of-place goblet that could point toward poison. But then she screamed again, louder this time, and wrapped her arms around her ball-shaped stomach, and Harry dropped his wand in panic as the truth hit him like a bludger to the gut. Little Lupin was on its way.

Having absolutely no idea what to do with that, he waited out her wave of pain, which seemed to be lasting an awful long time by his estimate. At last it ended again and after taking a huge gulp of air she turned her head to glare at him. "ARE YOU JUST GOING TO STAND THERE? DO SOMETHING!"

"Er … right … do something …"

"Today, Potter," she barked out, and Harry almost jumped back in fear at the sight of her face, which had morphed into something reminiscent of the angry Veela at the World Cup, only without the beak and scales. "Unless you have something more pressing at the moment?"

"No … I mean … what should I do?" he sheepishly asked, very much out of his element. Dark Lords and deadly creatures were easy (and quite probably preferred) compared to this. "Help you to the infirmary?" he ventured.

"No time … they just started out of nowhere and I think they're already too close together … I need the nurse here. _Now_," she added as she began grunting.

It was another cry of pain that snapped Harry into action. He immediately summoned Dobby – who he knew would rather die than let Harry down - and ordered the elf to find the nurse and bring her here, or else! While he waited for Dobby's return, and to look busy and helpful to his scary professor, he transformed Dora's desk into a fairly comfortable-looking bed, ripping off his school robe and turning it into a soft plaid blanket of black, red, and gold.

Dobby and Merriweather appeared just as the contraction ended and the astute nurse needed no further explanation. Under her command Harry helped Dora into the bed (blushing furiously as her robe turned into a very short gown that hid nothing below the waist) and covered her with the blanket. "Gryffindor, Potter?" she growled.

Seeing as Merriweather had taken charge and was ordering Dobby to bring everything she needed, Harry decided to make a quiet retreat when the nurse – without even looked up from where she was checking something under the blanket – called out, "Stay, Harry. The poor dear's going to want someone with her for this. Don't you, Dora dear?"

"Please, Harry, " Dora called in a voice that sounded suddenly very lost and afraid – which left Harry scratching his head trying to figure out how she'd changed attitudes so quickly. Unaware of Harry's confusion, she reached for him with her hand as another contraction took hold of her.

'_For Remus,'_ Harry thought as he stepped up and grasped her hand. "Just … ah … breathe," he encouraged as she squeezed so tight he thought his fingers might be melded together. He glanced to Merriweather, who gave him a warm nod of approval.

"Talk to her, Harry. Take her mind off the pain," she instructed him.

It wasn't as awkward Harry thought it would be. Between contractions he got Dora to talk about a variety of things that had no real value whatsoever, but it kept her mind occupied and kept him focused away from what he mentally called the 'danger zone.' Merriweather continued to do her thing and Dobby continued to hover behind the makeshift bed, ready to perform the smallest task.

Before long Merriweather was telling Dora to push; and when she did Harry learned why home delivery was never a good idea in the Wizarding world. As Dora grunted her way through push after push, objects from around the room flew into the air and began spinning around the delivery bed. A teacup forgotten on a shelf flew into the foe-glass, which cracked but thankfully didn't shatter. As the child came closer and closer to arriving, the objects – books, desk supplies, small statues, and at least one sneakoscope – got closer and closer to Harry, until finally he was being pelted from every angle.

Just as a pewter paperweight shaped like a nundu bashed into the back of his shoulder with a loud "pop" and enough force to send pain shooting down the arm, Dora gave one final screech and Merriweather shouted "here he is". The office sundry instantly stopped spinning and dropped from the air. All three thick volumes in the _Defensive Techniques of Past Centuries_ series fell onto Harry's head in rapid succession. As a soft, sloppy being was deposited into a waiting blanket on Dora's chest, Harry slid onto the floor, where he stayed in a daze.

"Are you alright, young man?" a gentle voice asked some time later, causing Harry to look up into the concerned face of Nurse Merriweather. "That was quite a thumpin' you took. Happens sometimes when the spouse isn't here – usually the Storming is kept to a minimum. Last time I saw one that forceful was when my own great-grand daughter went into labor. Her no-account husband was there, mind you, but too drunk to be of any use. Long story short, he ended up with a mackerel jammed so far in his ear all you could see was the tail. Never did figure out where it came from. Oh – but you don't look so good – let's get off this floor and take a look."

With the nurse's help he pulled himself from the floor, catching sight of his reflection in the broken foe-glass and could only gape at what he saw. _'I've looked better after run-ins with Death Eaters!'_

"Let's see if we can't get you cleaned up now, Mister Potter. Can't have you walking the halls looking like you just wrestled a troll." Taking another look in the broken glass, Harry quipped, "wish I looked that good."

He let Merriweather guide him into a chair and gently examine him. For the crisscross of parchment cuts on his forehead and cheeks she applied a pulpy paste that smelled like wood chips and burned as it sealed the skin. A second paste was brought out and applied to the large bruise on his right temple and another on his chin. His shoulder, he was surprised to discover, had a torn rotator cuff which had to be woven back together with a smelly potion and a lot of prodding by the nurse's wand.

As Harry flexed his neck in relief he caught the distinct sound of a baby crying. "Harry, come meet your Godson, Theodore Remus Lupin, or Teddy."

Harry slowly reached out his hand and caressed the baby's cheek. "He's so soft," he said in awe. He stayed, mesmerized, until Merriweather was ready to move Dora and Teddy to their rooms. Promising to visit again soon, he headed to the Tower to share the good news with his friends, trying his best to ignore the part of his mind that was imagining going through that again with Ginny.

By breakfast the next morning, everyone seemed to know that Professor Lupin's baby had arrived. Everyone also knew – and Harry would dearly like to know how – that he'd been caught in the magical Storming. "That's seven for seven, mate," Dean joked as he slapped Harry on the back. "I'm starting to think that Defense Curse has somehow been transferred to you."

Harry laughed along with everyone's kidding, for he didn't think anything could ruin the high he was still on from seeing the miracle of birth. A note delivered from a skittish female house elf proved him wrong.

**** end chapter ****

**NOTES: "**The Storming" - if magic reacts to strong emotions and thoughts … and Dora is focusing on the thought 'push' with every ounce of her being … accidental magic is bound to happen, isn't it? Lord knows it would have in my delivery rooms. Storming seemed an appropriate name.

A sarcastic 'thanks' to Rowling for taking the Grim (aka the barghest) out of the cemetery, so I had to find a different guardian to put there. Wasn't that fun research! I ended up making up my own because Luna just doesn't believe in the common, does she?

If you found the training dummies cliche, I again point out that some things are common in fanfiction because they make sense.

_**PLEASE MAKE NOTE: I probably won't update again before the holidays – enjoy yourselves and I'll 'see' you next year.**_


	41. Hassle in the Castle

At this point, I'm running out of ways to say I don't own Harry Potter. Well … will you look at that … that was pretty easy after all.

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=parseltongue=

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**Chapter 41. Hassle in the Castle**

_I was called to the Ministry – a breach has been discovered and my help is needed. Stay safe and stay alert; we shall speak when I return. Albus_

Harry read the note for what was the third or fifth or quite possibly the ten-thousandth time. It still read the same. Albus had left the building.

Around him students continued to eat their breakfast, completely unaware that something major was happening outside the comfortable walls of the castle. At least that's how it felt to Harry; but then Hermione pulled the note from his hand and read it and he felt a rush of gratitude as she explained it to Ron and Ginny, who each paled at the implication. Ginny took to searching the entire hall as if Albus was only hiding behind that rather tall Hufflepuff boy or perhaps one of the recently relocated suits of armor.

Ron took a more pragmatic approach. "If I've learned one thing, it's that as long as Snape is still scowling things are alright. It's when he actually looks like a normal person that you need to worry. See," he added, pointing toward the head table with his egg-filled fork, "he's poking at the food on his plate like it's trying to get away. Perfectly normal."

"Putting aside the fact that you know what's normal when it comes to Snape's eating habits," Harry said, "think for a minute. Doesn't this feel a bit familiar?"

Ron just gave Harry a blank look while Hermione asked, "How so, Harry?"

"First Year, remember? The Philosopher's Stone? He got mysteriously called away to the Ministry and that's when Voldemort made his move."

"Are you saying …" Ginny trailed off, not willing to put her worry into words.

"Yeah, I am. Only there's no stone this time, it's me and the school herself he wants. I think we're about to be attacked."

"But Snape," Ron began, only to have Harry slam his hand down on the table hard enough to rattle goblets and flatware.

"Snape's scowl doesn't mean crap, Ron. The man probably scowls during sex, for Merlin's sake." The snickers of nearby students told Harry he'd said that a bit louder than intended. He took a deep breath to rein in his emotions.

Hermione, who'd been ignoring the boys in favor of considering the situation, cleared her throat as she came to a conclusion. "It is familiar, Harry. But I wasn't thinking our first year … I think it's more like … er … our fifth year, actually. He knows the Dumbledore family means something to you, even if he doesn't know the specifics." She bravely continued despite the horrified look spreading across Harry's face. "I think he's using the Headmaster to lure you to the Ministry again … and judging by the look on your face, it's going to work."

Harry, who had to swallow hard to keep his juice from reappearing, gave Ginny a look of thanks when she grasped his hand reassuringly. "How do we know which one it is?" his girlfriend quietly asked.

Harry looked from Hermione to Ginny to Ron, who was looking from Hermione to Harry to Hermione. Suddenly standing, Hermione announced, "Right then. This isn't a discussion for the Great Hall. Everyone follow me." Without waiting, she grabbed her bag and left the hall. Harry and Ginny did likewise with Ron (who paused to grab a few thick, greasy bangers) bringing up the rear.

Once they were all ensconced in the antechamber by the staircase to the dungeons, Harry was about to begin when a portrait scratching its chin caught his attention. "Hey, Headmaster Dippet," he called out.

"Oh, it's you," the little bald man replied, barely sparing Harry a glance.

"Yes, it's me," Harry agreed, "and I need a favor. I need you to go to your portrait in the Headmaster's office and find out if he's already left the castle."

"And if so," Hermione butted in, "can you confirm when and to where?"

"Do I look like a messenger service to you young whippersnappers? That's the trouble with today's youth, you –"

But Harry cut him off, "It's about Voldemort."

"Oh … him. Why didn't you say so in the first place. I'll just be a moment," he assured them as he rushed behind the frame and out of sight.

As Harry perched himself on the edge of a table Ron offered some of his food. "Most important meal of the day, I hear."

"You think _every_ meal's the most important," Ginny grumbled. She didn't get offered a sausage.

Luckily, Dippet slipped back into his portrait before she could take offense. "Left first thing this morning, by floo, directly to the Ministry atrium. No word from him since."

"That settles it. Fifth Year it is," Harry declared, only to be interrupted by Ron.

"Don't even think it, Harry. There's no way we're letting you walk into another trap."

"You're not stopping me, Ron," Harry practically yelled, earning him a glare from Ron and looks of concern from the girls.

"_Harry_ …" Hermione implored.

It nearly worked, for Harry did stop for a second to take a calming breath. "This isn't really like Sirius, Hermione," he tried to assure her. "Aside from the fact that we can trust Dippet, there's the little matter of his note this morning. He really was lured to the Ministry and I'd bet it's not for tea and crumpets."

"But what if it's not Voldemort, Harry," Ginny tried to reason. "What if it was just a normal emergency?"

Harry shook his head. "If Fudge was still in office I'd say you have a point, but Bluestreak wouldn't have called him away from here for anything trivial."

"But – ," she tried again.

"Look, if I'm wrong and Voldemort's not there, I can just turn around and come back. But I'm telling you, this is what we've been waiting for and I cannot – will not – sit here and do nothing while Voldemort takes over the Ministry."

"Harry's right," Hermione conceded as she pulled Albus' crumpled note from her pocket, re-reading it. "This has evil plot written all over it."

"Well then," Ginny said with a fierce glint in her eyes. "It's a good thing we've got a spare wand up our sleeve. He thinks he's still invincible, so he's likely to put himself in harm's way. This could be Harry's chance."

Ron wasn't convinced. "What about the school, though? A few minutes ago you were certain it was in danger."

Harry closed his eyes and brushed his hand against a nearby wall, connecting with the castle's magic. "I still think it is," he finally declared. "This place is special to him. He hid a Horcrux here … the Chamber is here … his ancestor helped build the place … and let's not forget he expects me to be here. Trouble is definitely coming – if not him, then his minions or his creature army – but definitely something. I can feel it."

And feel it he did, in that very moment, only it had nothing to do with the castle. It was the single most powerful burst of emotion he'd every felt come from Riddle. An excitement bordering on giddiness … with a disgusting tinge of arousal … joy … _triumph_. Harry swayed; if he hadn't been next to a wall he would have fallen to the floor. As his friends and an openly interested Dippet watched, he struggled to keep in the maniacal laugh that wanted to escape, resulting in a sound similar to someone choking a chicken.

He became aware of a glass of water waving in front of his face, which he took and carefully sipped. Finally looking up, he found a calmness he hadn't expected as he explained, "It's happening now and I'm going. I have to save him – and then I'm finding Tom. I'm going to vanquish that son-of-a-rat-snake so hard Slytherin himself's gonna feel it!"

As Harry pushed himself away from the wall Ron grabbed his arm, inadvertently pushing him back again. "You can't face him yet," he frantically insisted. "There's still Trelawney's last prophecy, Mate – you haven't found what you lost."

"CURSE THE PROPHECY, RON!" Harry shouted as he tried to push away from the wall again, but Ron was standing directly in front of him by now and wouldn't give him any space.

"You can't say that," Ron hollered back, "or have you forgotten getting your arse handed to you at your uncle's funeral? True prophecies can't be ignored."

"It wasn't real, Ron. She never finished it!"

"She said enough. If you don't find what you lost you can't destroy Voldemort."

"I don't have time for this," Harry seemed to tell himself as he sagged into the wall and rubbed his forehead. "Fine, Ron. You want me to find something I lost? _Accio something of Harry's_," he called out as he shoved his wand into the air.

The hem of his robe lifted and swatted his hand, closely followed by a book bag knocking into his elbow. Harry, however, waved both of those aside as he snatched a magazine – which had jumped from Ron's bag – with his left hand. "My _Which Broomstick_!," he called in a falsely excited voice. "I thought I'd lost this forever! I'm so glad I found it!" Even Dippet recognized the sarcasm.

Then he let the magazine drop to the ground. "Any other objections?"

It was Hermione who spoke up. "I'm not objecting, Harry, but I do think we need to think this through. If we rush off unprepared we give him an advantage."

"You're right," Harry agreed. Truth be told, he knew a few minutes now could be the difference between winning and losing later. "What do you have in mind?"

Although visibly surprised by his easy agreement, she quickly answered, "Well … we should probably tell someone we are going, don't you think? And you're the only one with an extra wand but the rest of us should have some other weapon – something like that goblin-made dagger you have. That way, if we lose our wands, we aren't left helpless. Besides, most Death Eaters haven't a clue how to fight when you take wands out of the equation, so it might even give us an advantage."

"Good thinking," he agreed. "I'll gather some weapons while you find Professor McGonagall and tell her where we're going and what we know. Not ask, Hermione, _tell_."

Hermione nodded her understanding as Ginny volunteered to go to the Hospital Wing and snatch a few first aid supplies. Ron didn't seem to have any ideas of his own, so Hermione suggested he return to the Great Hall and put the DA members on alert should trouble indeed find the castle.

"We'll meet at the statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. And Harry," Hermione added as she began to walk away, "you'd best bring a dose of your special pain-numbing potion. It'll be rather difficult to duel to the death while you're holding your head in one hand."

Harry paused long enough to confirm that he did, in fact, have the vial inside his mokeskin pouch, which in turn was safely around his neck and tucked inside his shirt, before following his friends from the room. Instead of heading to the main staircase, he turned toward the stuffy little broom cupboard Filch hid his extra mops and buckets in. Mostly forgotten behind Filch's treasures was a narrow flight of stairs directly to the third floor, which Harry made quick use of. Once there, he easily navigated through the Trophy Room and into the Gallery of Armor, which seemed to him to be the logical place to find weapons.

Several suits snapped their heads in his direction the second he stepped fully into the room, causing him to clear his throat nervously. "Don't mind me," he called out as he stepped closer to a particularly menacing suit of black chain and metal with sharp spikes on its hands, knees, and elbows. It was heavily dented on its left side and there was a triple mace dangling from its right hand. Malus of Mull, his nameplate read, though Harry didn't know if it referred to the person who wore the armor or the armor itself.

"Just going to borrow a few things," he continued as he stepped closer. Practically hidden behind the armor was a wooden shield – probably a battle trophy of some kind – with a steel and bronze saber hanging vertically down its middle. On either side of the saber were two daggers of similar metals, their blades crossed to form an 'X'. Harry carefully reached behind Malus, instinctively knowing the armor would not take kindly be being disturbed, and removed the first dagger. He repeated the process until he had all four, then he placed them inside his book bag, shouted "thanks", and headed for Boris.

Only Ginny had managed to arrive ahead of him and her smug smile told him he didn't want to know how she'd managed it. Ron arrived shortly after sporting such a sour look Harry was immediately on alert, which is how he was able to hear Hermione's voice carrying down the empty corridor.

"She's picked up a stray, she has," Ron grumbled as he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "Bloody—oof" He bent slightly forward and rubbed his stomach as Ginny yawned.

By this point Hermione and her tag-along had moved into sight.

"Potter," called out the Slytherin prefect Dierks Harper. "I hear you know about trouble at the Ministry." Dierk's grandfather, Harry quickly recalled, was none other than Minister Bluestreak.

Hermione, looking somewhat apologetic as she came to Harry's side, explained that she hadn't been able to find McGonagall and in her haste to pass on a message with Professor Sprout, she hadn't realized the Slytherin was listening in. "I thought I was being very discrete," she insisted.

Dierks chuckled. "Maybe if I hadn't noticed the way the four of you hightailed it out of the Hall in the first place, I wouldn't have paid much attention when you came back. But it was pretty obvious you were trying to convince her of something. You looked all fierce and determined."

"Yes, well, Professor Sprout was hesitant to believe our theory," Hermione indignantly explained, as if professors should know better than to question her logic. "And then she was hesitant to 'let us leave', as she put it … she was very against it, actually, but then she let out this great sigh and suggested if we were going to sneak away regardless of her opinion we'd best bring the 'old buzzard' back in one piece."

Harry was smiling at the professor's nickname for Albus as he turned back to Dierks and acknowledged, "The Ministry's under attack. It might even have already fallen. Either way, we're going."

"Then I want in," Dierks demanded.

Ron looked about to argue but either common sense or a Hermione's evil eye silenced him.

"The thing is—" Harry began, only to be interrupted.

"He's my Granddad."

Any other time it wouldn't have worked but Harry felt that in this instance, it'd be rather hypocritical of him to leave the boy behind. "Right … well … you're new to the group so you'll have to follow along and do what we say. Got it?"

"Got it," Dierks concurred. "Now, how do we get there?"

"Not thestrals again," Ron exclaimed, "anything but those … those … winged demons."

"I thought we'd take the floo from the Head's office, if that doesn't sound too boring. It'll take us straight to the atrium," Harry explained as he reached into his bag. "But before we go anywhere, I want each of you – sorry Dierks, didn't count on you – to take one of these." He gave one dagger to each his friends, carefully tucking the fourth inside a deep robe pocket. Dropping his now unneeded bag behind the statue, he headed toward the entrance to Albus' office.

"Harry –," Hermione began, but that's as far as she got. A horribly loud gong-like sound vibrated through the corridor; a deep, sorrowful sound that felt as if it was alive and it was crying out in pain and need. Harry felt the waves of sound penetrate his skin and make his insides thrum to their beat. Several paintings in the area swayed on their hooks as candles rattled and fell out of their holders. A vase sitting on a low table spontaneously shattered.

For Harry, with his special connection to the castle, what happened next was hard to put into words. As a cold rush of air seemed to blast him from every direction … he was overwhelmed with worry and dizzy with anticipation … the whispers of voices – dozens or hundreds or maybe just four – rattled in his head … he knew fear, but not for himself and not enough to deter him from his duty … he was courageous and wise and cunning and just … the wind puttered itself out, leaving him with a strange coldness in his chest. Absently rubbing the area, he intuitively knew he was cut off from the castle.

The others, meanwhile, shot nervous looks around the area, wondering what was happening. When the final gong had faded away, Hermione, in a moment of either inspiration or curiosity, walked to the nearest door and tried to open it. It refused to budge.

"That's not going to work," chided a cute little painted boy from his painted swing. "Castle's in lockdown now, innit? Everything's locked up tight 'cept the special rooms."

"Oh, I've read about this in Hogwart's: A History," Hermione excitedly began.

"So have I," Harry interrupted, "and all it means is it just got a lot harder to get to the Ministry."

"We can't leave?" Ginny questioned.

"We still can, but it won't be as simple as walking to Seba's office," Harry explained. "Remember those annoying trick staircases? In lockdown, they go on the offensive. Any staircase that can move will shift so it leads nowhere … trick stairs switch around and multiply. And about half the hidden passages will have solid walls on one end. Outer doors are locked, of course, but luckily we're using a floo. We just need to get to it."

Hermione could see how frustrated Harry was getting, so she put him back on track. "No use complaining about it. Let's just get moving. As long as we're careful we should get there in no time."

An hour ago it would have been a simple trip, a couple of staircases and turn a few corners, but now the first staircase they tried seemed to have disappeared – where it should have begun was a misshapen baloney. Their alternate staircase had two students and Mrs. Norris already caught in its quicksand steps and no amount of levitating could bypass it. Backtracking to a nearby tapestry, they pulled it back to discover it now hid nothing more helpful than a solid wall.

Ron loudly offered an opinion which earned him a dirty look from his girlfriend.

"Such language is most unbecoming the fine house of Gryffindor," chided a voice behind the group.

"Sir Nicolas," Hermione greeted the ghost, "I'm so glad you're here. We need to get to the Headmaster's office. Do you by chance know a way that hasn't been closed off?"

"That depends, my good lady," he replied with a roguish grin. "Have you tried the staircase beyond yonder door?" With a jerk of his head (which almost unseated it from his neck) he gestured toward a plain wooden door that was much narrower and shorter than the rest of the doors in the corridor. Harry had always assumed it was a storage closet.

Silently berating himself for such an assumption in a magic castle, he went over and cautiously pulled the door open. Hidden behind it was a stone staircase climbing upward. It looked a bit cramped given the close walls and ceiling but otherwise safe. Luckily, the torches along its path magically sprung to life as soon as his foot crossed the threshold, so at least they'd have light.

"Thanks, Sir Nicolas," Hermione said as she passed the ghost to join Harry on the steps. The others added their own gratitude as each moved onto the staircase.

"My pleasure," Nick assured them. "Good journey, lads and ladies."

Ginny, who was last, paused to turn and wave goodbye before following her friends.

"Or was it the other door," Nicolas wondered aloud as she turned away.

Ginny had just stepped fully through the door when his words registered but it was too late. The door slammed shut, the torches went out, and the floor undulated, knocking everyone to their feet. The five bodies were tossed into each other and the walls as the floor beneath them continued to jump around. None noticed that it had lost its harsh edges as the stair treads melted into smooth concrete. At least, not until the undulations stopped, leaving the floor with a steep downward angle.

Someone, probably one of the girls, let out a high-pitched squeal as the five slipped down the slope.

Harry, having been in the lead, landed first with a heavy thud that left him winded. He had just enough time to be thankful that there were no bones or shed skins on the ground before another body tumbled into his. And another. And another. Then a miniscule pause, during which Harry tried to push the pile of bodies off him. Then Ginny came barreling onto the pile.

"I think my ribs are broken," Ron moaned from his place in the mix.

"Off," Harry tried to shout, though it came out as more of a moan.

"Just let me" … "my arm!" …"think I can stand" …"can't breathe" …"is that my wand?" … "does that feel like a wand?" … "move left" … "the other left" … "still can't breathe" … "watch it" … "sorry" … "oow" … "seriously, can't breathe!" … "honestly Harry, you couldn't shout if you couldn't breathe."

Finally, Harry alone was still on the ground. He stayed where he was, gently kneading his tender side as he stared at the ceiling, wondering if this was an omen of things to come.

"Where are we?" Ginny questioned as she looked around the area. It wasn't technically a room; rather, it appeared to be a section of hallway where some unknown force had pushed on the walls until they'd moved out of its way, forming a strange oval area about ten feet across at its widest point. At either end the walls narrowed back to normal width before the walkway turned out of sight. There were no windows and no doors to be found.

In the very middle of the area, on an otherwise plain grey stone wall, hung an ornate oval mirror that would be just tall enough for Harry to step into were it still a doorway instead of the perfectly solid mirror it now was. Roughly opposite the mirror hung a pair of small metal pots holding stubby candles that gave off the only light in the area. Other than the candles and the mirror, the space was disturbingly devoid of decoration. A few bars at either end and water trickling somewhere, Harry reasoned, and it'd be the perfect prison.

Ginny approached the mirror and tried pulling it, pushing it, kicking it, threatening it, and even tickling it, but it stubbornly remained a mirror. Giving up, she absently removed the dust bunny from her hair that her reflection kept pointing out. "No way back through there," she pronounced with a dramatic sigh.

Harry fully believed her. He'd tried to reopen the mirror using magic and he'd spotting Hermione trying the same, both as unsuccessful as Ginny. "Probably wouldn't have taken us back up anyway."

The five fanned out, Harry and Dierks searching one end while Ron and Hermione took the other. Ginny watched both groups, wand at the ready. It was the Slytherin who finally figured out they were near the dungeons when he recognized the squirrely pattern on the stone floor (though how he knew it he didn't say). "We're actually behind the Hufflepuff Common Room. It's down there," he explained as he pointed to the left, "so we want to go that way," he added, now pointing right.

Accepting Dierk's lead, the others fell in step with him as they began, yet again, to climb their way to the Headmaster's office. The dungeons were quiet – uncomfortably so – and the friends, perhaps giving in to the oppressive feeling, traveled as silently as possible. Shortly after they passed the larger-than-life statue of Glanmore Peakes Slaying The Sea Serpent (the unofficial guardian of Slytherin territory) they turned a corner toward the main part of the castle and came face to face with a stranger who hissed in surprise as he back-stepped. The move caused the hood of his dusty grey robes to fall away from his face, revealing big, cloudy eyes that seemed sunken into a pale face.

For a second, all six froze in surprise. The next second the stranger lunged forward with a beastly growl – far faster than his sickly appearance would have suggested possible – and grabbed the body closest to him.

"Vampire!" Ginny shrieked at the same time Dierks yelped from the sting of fangs biting into his neck.

"Lumos Solem," Ron shouted, bringing the glare of bright light to the area. It didn't, however, deter the vampire.

"That doesn't really work," Hermione snapped before trying her own spell. Her Stunning Spell collided with Ginny's Impediment Jinx, making it hard to tell which spell hit which body. Dierks and the vampire blasted apart; the human hitting a wall and slumping to the ground while the beast spun in the air and landed in a crouch several feet away. "Normal curses and hexes will only piss it off," Harry shouted to his friends, "you've got to stick with charms." To prove his point, he hit the vampire with a strong Cheering Charm that caused the fiend to falter, looking around confused as he straightened from his attack stance.

Ron, meanwhile, dropped to the ground to tend Dierk's seeping wound.

The vampire's hesitation was short-lived. Shaking his head, he hissed again, showing fangs still wet with blood.

"It's not enough," Hermione cried as her Tickling Charm, like Harry's second Cheering Charm, slowed but didn't stop the vampire. Ginny added a Patronus Charm to the mix; her guardian bouncing happily around the glaring vampire, who pawed at it as if to bat it away.

"We need to get it physically," Hermione urgently insisted.

"How," Ginny shrieked as she pushed her Patronus to its limits. Already, it was losing its form and becoming more smoke-like.

"I've got an idea," Harry called out as he turned and dashed back around the corner. Skidding to a stop, he aimed his wand at the statue they'd passed earlier and commanded it to come to life. A heartbeat later, he cracked a relieved grin as Glanmore Peakes dropped his arms to his sides, the tip of his granite sword resting on the ground, awaiting Harry's orders.

Harry, however, only had eyes for the Sea Serpent. Certainly not as large as his basilisk, but easily three times the length and thickness Nagini had been – and Nagini had been a horrific thing to face down – this was a true beast. Unlike real Sea Serpents, this one's head resembled a viper wearing ridiculously fluffy ruffles at its neck and along its sides. =Go to the dark one= he hissed, pointing back the way he'd come, =squeeze him, keep him= The great serpent bobbed its head in the air before slithering off the pedestal with a loud grinding noise. It made its way surprisingly quickly around the corner, then several shouts and one physically implausible expletive let Harry know its presence had been noticed.

"Protect the humans," he ordered the statue that was supposed to be Glanmore Peakes, but who to Harry more closely resembled a Norse god of the Vikings with his face full of beard, beefy arms, and towering height. Glanmore nodded his understanding as a spine-tingling shriek sent Harry sprinting back to his friends. Arriving on the scene, he found the vampire being firmly held in the serpent's concrete coils, the pressure just enough to hold him without crushing him. Ginny and Hermione were debating spells to try and Ron was helping their injured friend sit against the wall. The vampire was pounding and punching on the serpent's solid body so hard that, had he been a normal person, his hands would be a pulpy mess.

=don't let him get free= Harry told the snake before moving toward the boys on the ground. As he bent down to speak with them, Dierks gasped as his eyes widened with terror. Looking over his shoulder, it wasn't hard for Harry to spot the cause – there was an oversized, solid stone man lumbering toward them. Harry knew it was coming to protect them as he'd ordered, but Dierks hadn't heard the order and thought he was being attacked again. Reaching around Ron he thrust his wand forward and shouted something.

Harry had no idea what Harper had done; he hadn't recognized the language let alone the spell. He could only stare as the speeding light struck the enchanted statue right in the forehead. The granite Viking shook its head in confusion before turning back around, heading toward the his lifelong enemy.

"No, forget the serpent," Harry bellowed as he tried to get the statue to obey, not that the thing seemed to be listening to him anymore. It raised its sword high in the air and brought it crushing down on the part of the serpent's body closest to it – a huge chunk of stone broke off from the portion of tail streaming behind its coils.

The serpent instantly twisted its head around to snap at its foe, showing deadly fangs Harry wouldn't have thought it (being a statue) should have. With its attention diverted, the coils holding the vampire in place began to loosen.

"What did that spell do," Ginny shouted as she flattened herself against a wall to avoid the swinging sword.

"I don't know! Is it even possible to confund something that doesn't have a brain," Harry wondered before shouting again for it to stop.

It didn't; its sword barely missed the serpent's head.

"How do we stop it," Ginny asked no one in particular.

"Let me try," Ron offered as he stood and aimed his wand at the stone wizard, but his feeble, fumbled "ff-finite" seemed to have no effect.

The serpent lost its patience, loosening its coils so it could rear back to strike. Harry hissed at it to hold still, and for a few seconds it seemed to listen again. Its hold on the vampire tightened slightly. Then the sword smacked into the side of its head, and opening its mouth in a silent hiss, it launched itself forward. Stone scraped on stone as the snake made contact with the wizard, breaking its fang as it cracked the others shoulder. Forgotten by the fighting statues, the vampire easily freed itself, jumping behind the combatants where it couldn't be seen.

"_Finite Incantatem!" _Hermione's command instantly froze the stone enemies, creating a new masterpiece that stretched across the hallway. Her triumph was short-lived as the vampire rushed forward and grabbed for her arm. Ron, who'd been watching his girlfriend, spotted the danger and reached her first, roughly shoving her to the ground and out of its reach.

The vampire's momentum sent it into a nearby wall, but it was quick to turn around and search out a new victim.

"We need to kill it," Harry helpfully suggested.

"Yeah, well I'm fresh outta wooden stakes," Ron snipped back as he watched the vampire lick its lips as its eyes shifted from person to person.

From her place on the ground where she was cradling her left knee, Hermione nearly laughed. "Are you a wizard or what, Ron?"

Harry tried to not laugh as Ron muttered something under his breath as he spun his wand in a useless pattern.

Ginny, knowing Ron wasn't good with this kind of magic, swirled her wand and conjured what appeared to be the broken wooden leg of a school desk.

The vampire hissed loudly at the sight, taking a half-step backward to assume a 'fight-or-flight' stance.

"Remember SHHoT, Ginny," Hermione called out, earning her four confused looks. "Stomach, Heart, Head or Throat – it's where to aim."

With a decisive nod, Ginny pulled back her arm for the throw just as the vampire began rushing toward her … it changed its path in a heartbeat so that the wooden stake glanced off its shoulder … halting just in front of Ron, it reached out and snagged the boy.

Instead of struggling, Ron actually pushed his body toward the vampire, resulting in his chest slamming into the vampires. It opened its mouth wide, preparing to bite, but instead let out a ghastly shriek. Its hands flew to its neck where a thin piece of smooth, cylindrical wood stuck out at a strange angle. Ron backed from the vampire as his right hand gave his wand another shove, forcing it further into the vampire's neck.

Harry hadn't really given much thought to vampires since the lessons with Lupin all those years ago. In fact, he'd surprised himself in remembering that bit about charms versus curses. So having no idea what to expect next, he watched with rapt attention. Blood flowed from between the vampire's fingers surrounding the make-shift stake. Not at all thick or old or spoiled like he'd expected, the bright red blood ran like water down the vampire's front. There was far more of it than there should have been; Harry was certain Lestrange had bleed less last year when he'd accidentally gutted the man.

The vampire made a gurgling sort of noise … opened its mouth wide in a silent scream … and toppled backwards. That was it. There was no hiss of an escaping spirit nor cloud of black smoke, just a dead body doing what dead bodies do – absolutely nothing.

Ron gave the body a kick near the ribs and when it didn't respond he cautiously reached for his wand. The part that had protruded from the neck was smeared in the red blood, so Ron held it delicately by his finger tips. But the truly gross part was the section that had been lodged inside the vampire. It was coated in a thick, pungent, syrup-like substance and the further Ron pulled the wand, the more the connective string thinned and stretched, but it would not give. Finally, Ron gave up protecting his hand and, taking a firmer hold on the handle, sharply whipped the wand upward.

The connection broke. The now-unanchored string of mucus followed the upward momentum to slap Ron on the cheek, where it stuck like glue.

"That's worse than troll boogies, mate," Harry managed to say before both boys dissolved into a laughing fit.

"Boys," Hermione tutted as she stood and tested her sore knee. Deciding there was no serious damage, she stepped over to help Harry check Dierks.

"Thanks," said the Slytherin when Harry pulled him to his feet, "and sorry about that spell. I guess I panicked."

"Not a problem," Hermione assured him, as if battling stone giants was a hobby of theirs. "You should be fine," she continued as she eyed up the bite wound, "but you might be tired or weak and probably very thirsty for a while. Ginny, have you got a Blood-Replenishing Potion?"

By the time Ginny had dug the proper potion from her bag Harry and Ron had managed to clean up the area – well, aside from the new statue partly blocking the hall and the dead vampire on the ground. "Nothing to do about those other than leave 'em here," Harry reasoned as the quintet resumed their trek to the Headmaster's office.

"How'd a bleeding vampire get in the castle in the first place," Ron questioned.

"In all fairness," Ginny smirked, "he wasn't really bleeding until you got your hands on him, Ron."

"Very funny, Ginny," Ron snapped back. "But seriously, how?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted.

For some reason, Harry's admission seemed to put Ron on edge. "Why not? Aren't you and Hogwarts best mates now?"

"Ron," Hermione began, but Dierks drown her out as he snorted. "You can't be best mates with a castle, Weasley. That's just nutters."

"Yeah, well, that's Harry now innit?"

Thus began a heated discussion between the Gryffindor boys as they marched on. What began with past Skeeter articles jumped to Yule Ball mis-dates and over-indulging in Canary Creams to why, exactly, Ron had gone to Flitwick of all people for advice on wand maintenance.

"He's a dueling champion," Ron insisted.

"You don't ask another wizard to play with your wand, Ron. You just don't!"

Ron was saved from responding by a voice calling around the nearby corner. "Blimey … Harry? What're you yelling about now?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me," Dean Thomas replied just before he came sprinting around the corner, dragging Susan Bones behind him. "What're you all doing down here?"

"Trying to get to the Headmaster's office," Hermione explained. "But with the castle in lockdown it's proving to be a bit of a challenge."

"We're looking for Hannah," Dean replied, motioning to himself and the pretty Hufflepuff behind him.

"She disappeared just before things went to the hounds," added Susan Bones. "Probably went off for another cry, she does that a lot these days … only now we can't find her and rumor has it Death Eaters got into the castle."

"Word around the Great Hall's that the garden gate in the courtyard was demolished. Blown to bits!" Dean authoritatively added. "McGonagall sent Hagrid and Sinistra to fix it then disappeared with Snape and Flitwick. They left Sprout and Padma in charge."

"Snape and Flitwick, huh? Don't know about any Death Eaters, but we had a bit of a run-in with a vampire," Ron replied.

"I imagine a coven of vampires could do just as much damage as rampaging Death Eaters," Dean said.

"Oh, poor Hannah," Susan worried. "Off who-knows-where by herself with vampires running loose." Ginny laid a comforting hand on distraught girl's back as Hermione muttered, "It was _one_ vampire."

"You could probably roam this place for a week and not come across her," Harry reasoned. "Why don't you come with us to the Headmaster's office? There's a special map there that shows everyone in the castle. We'll find her in a flash."

"Thanks, Harry," Susan said as she threw herself at him. Thankfully, Ginny looked more entertained than upset at the sight of another girl in his arms. It helped that his arms were flapping around, indicating he had no intention of hugging her back but had no idea what else to do with them.

With the two new travelers, the group easily climbed upward, bypassed the prefects patrolling just outside the Great Hall, caught a lucky break by using the stairs connecting a classroom on the First Floor with an office on the Second Floor, and successfully detoured around a Portable Swamp on the Third Floor.

In retrospect, Harry realized it had been too easy this time.

From a distance, they could hear what sounded like the vicious hissing and screeching of wild cats fighting. Coming into view of the staircase, Harry wished it'd been that simple. Standing several steps apart near the top of the stairs were two of the crinkliest, cattiest, and just plain ugliest women he'd ever seen. They were fighting over something, tugging a brownish lump between them.

"Are those hags?!"

"Is that an _owl_?!"

"Schnitzel!" Harry swore. There were hags in the castle and from the looks of it, they'd already killed a (thankfully not white) owl.

"But why would Death Eaters let hags in the castle?" someone wondered. "I've read that hags have been known to eat children." _'Ah, Hermione then.'_

Harry was about to reply when one of the hags let out a loud, growly-whiney sort of noise as she tumbled down the steps, a bloody wing clutched in her hand. The other paid no mind to her opponent, already absorbed in her snack.

At the first "ewwww," all eyes in the group were drawn to the fascinating yet grotesque spectacle of the feeding hag. Others joined in the sentiment, some adding gagging noises. Dean's no-nonsense, "Now _that's_ nasty," earned Harry's nod of agreement.

"I'm not eating for a month." Trust Ron to put things in their proper perspective.

The forgotten hag – who had tumbled so gracelessly down the steps – tossed aside her mangled wing as she set her sights on other, bigger prey. Crouching on all fours in her dark and dirty robes, she let loose a deep grunt in such a way that, for a fleeting second, Harry was reminded of the cloaked Voldemort-in-Quirrell that attacked him in the Forbidden Forest. In seconds she'd leapt forward and was upon the group.

Dean screeched "whoa" as he backpedaled from the wild woman rushing him. He thrust his wand forward, but misjudged how close she had gotten, and the end of it jabbed into her right breast. She grabbed the offending stick and somehow, during the ensuing war of wills, the wand snapped in two.

The hag tossed her piece aside while Dean stared helplessly at the wooden stick in his hand, the tip of a bright green fwooper feather sticking out the broken end. "Owww," he yelped when a set of sharp, uneven teeth clamped down on his still-extended arm. Seconds later, the unconscious hag dropped to the ground. Based on the number of wands pointed her direction, it would take a curse breaker to undo the spells she'd been hit with.

Harry turned his attention back to the owl-eating hag only to find she was already subdued. It probably should have surprised him that a wizard knew enough about Muggle combat sports to put someone in a sleeper hold. Instead, he was surprised it was Gregory Goyle detaining the hag.

When his victim stopped floundering and fighting, Goyle dropped his arms to his sides causing her to slip down the staircase. She landed close to her counterpart and the two were quickly bound and stuck to the nearest wall. Confident the hags could do no more harm, Harry turned his attention back to the bulky Slytherin silently watching them from above.

With a Snapeworthy smirk, Goyle offered a sloppy salute in Harry's direction before turning around and retreating up the steps. Never slowing, never acknowledging the five wands following his every step, he opened the first door he came to and entered the room. The fact that it was a girl's lavatory didn't deter him. _'To be fair, it never really deters me either.' _It was clear to Harry that Goyle was declaring his, if not alliance, at least neutrality.

"Come on Dean," Hermione said, drawing Harry's attention away from Goyle's hiding place. "Let's move to the window so I can get a good look at that bite."

"Best leave them to it," Harry said to the guys as he motioned toward the next window over. He was starting to feel like a rat in a maze, as one obstacle after another thwarted their journey.

Ron flicked the window open, leaning his face into the slight breeze. "Nice day," he reflected, causing Harry and Dierks to come closer to the open window.

Harry closed his eyes, filling his lungs with the crisp mountain air as he reminded himself there was still time to get to the Ministry. The sun on his face helped calm his mind. Ron had the right of it, he reasoned, this would have been a perfect day.

A woman's voice – one the student's quickly recognized (Ron actually ducked his head back inside in guilt) – spoiled the peaceful moment.

"I doubt they'll fly in, Severus," Minerva's voice drifted on the air.

"Blast it, woman. You nearly gave me a heart attack," Snape snapped back.

Seeking the source, Harry leaned further out the window and craned his neck. Slightly above their current level, just above the base of a tower, hovered Professor Snape. Technically, he was standing on a balcony so narrow it was really more of an outcropping of stones. The balcony had no railing, although Harry supposed there was magic of some sort in place to keep the professor from tumbling off. Minerva could just be seen beyond him, enough in the shadows that Harry knew she was still inside the castle proper.

"Really now, Severus, you've never been one for dramatics," she chided.

"Dramatics? That little Bevens boy running through the halls crying 'the monsters are coming' was being dramatic. I'm being practical. I can hardly fulfill my duty to protect the school if I am lying dead on the ground because the Deputy Headmistress forced me off a catwalk."

"He certainly gave the older students much needed comic relief," she chuckled. "Now tell me, what are you doing out here."

"Contemplating suicide."

"Severus…"

"Just there, Minerva," he finally said, one of his arms pointing in the general direction of the forbidden forest. "If you watch close enough, you can just make them out amongst the trees." And then one more word drifted down, this one said quite a bit fiercer than the rest. "Giants."

"Filius should be able to keep the cursed things from getting close enough to do any real damage," she explained. Both professors turned toward a spot on the ground very close to the castle walls.

"There," Dierks hissed in Harry's ear, pointing out what the professors were watching. Tiny Professor Flitwick, looking like a well-dressed garden gnome from this distance, was standing on a large stone waving his wand in elegant, sweeping motions, creating a curved strip of barren dirt that presumably circled the entire castle.

A quick magnification spell to his glasses allowed Harry to see what the others could not. Tiny fissures were appearing in the hard ground, water bubbling up from the slits. Wider and wider, the fissures stretched and connected to one another, water continuing to fill in their gaps until even Ron and Dierks could make out the unmistakable formation of a moat.

"Blasted things are too dumb to realize they are big enough to just walk through the water," came Snape's snarky voice.

"It should hold other creatures as well," Minerva reminded him. "There are many that cannot or will not cross water."

"I wouldn't count on that," Snape snapped back.

"Of course not," she readily agreed. "Hogwarts has many defenses, some of which I suspect will surprise even you."

"Like the Devil's Snare in the hidden passages?"

"That was Pomona's doing, actually," Minerva chuckled.

The teachers silently watched Flitwick perform his magic for a spell, during which time Harry fixed his glasses and surveyed his group. Hermione, Susan and Dean were now watching Flitwick's show through the next window over. Ginny had somehow managed to weasel her way to his side – he'd wrapped his arm around her shoulder without even realizing.

"Do you suppose we captured all the hags?" they heard Snape finally asked.

Ron's muttered "no" was drown out by Minerva's reply. "We can hope, Severus. What horrid things to send into a school full of children." Harry could imagine the look of disgust on her face. "That beast deserves everything Harry's going to give him."

"Hardly! Potter's too honorable – he'll merely kill the thing. I confess that won't satisfy my thirst for vengeance." Snape confessed.

"So you know the right of it?" Minerva questioned, making the eavesdropping Harry a bit uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation.

"Unlike our dear Sybil, I am capable of reading the signs."

"I wonder, Severus, what Harry would say if he knew you called him …" her voice faded away as she retreated further into the castle, Snape following her inside.

"Alright people," Hermione loudly announced, taking charge now that the show was over. "we've still got levels to climb … we'd best get moving."

Harry was thankful for her suggestion, as he'd noticed Dierks giving him a very strange look. Once he fell into step so did the others and before long the ragtag septet had continued upward (bypassing Goyle's restroom) and navigated their way to the sixth floor where they met their next stumbling block in the form of a staircase blocked by a tangle of twisting, reaching vines. "That's gonna be hard to get through," Susan observed.

"At least it's not Devil's Snare," Harry noted with relief.

He and Hermione immediately started debating their options. Luckily, somewhere between axes and boiling water, Ron remembered a passage Percy had told him to avoid back in his Second Year. "Mind, I've never actually used it, but he said it comes out not far from the Headmaster's office. Only for the Prefects, he – "

"You've been a Prefect for _three years_, Ron," Hermione pointed out.

"Never mind that," Harry interrupted what was looking to be another of their classic arguments, earning looks of gratitude from several of the others. "Do you remember where it was?"

"Er … I remember it was hidden," Ron sheepishly replied. "Behind something, I think," he added.

"Well done, Weasley." Dean said, slapping him on the back perhaps a bit harder than congratulations normally allow. "Now we just have to find _something_ and then look behind it."

"Think, Ron," Ginny urged.

"Er … a … a painting, maybe? Or tapestry?"

Hermione, who like Harry understood they'd already lost far too much precious time, grabbed Ron's arm and spun him around so they were standing chest to chest. "Ignore them. Ron … my fiery fox," she purred as she ran a finger up his chest, "I want you to close your eyes and concentrate. Tell us where the passage is and I'll make it worth your while tonight."

Ron, closed-eyed and grinning goofily, missed the smirking faces of his classmates, not to mention the downright gleeful glint in his sister's eyes. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he practically shouted, "it's behind that goofy clown that thinks he can to juggle."

"Way to go, Foxie," Dean laughed.

The others heaped on more good-natured ribbing as they began searching for the Juggling Clown, who Ron was certain was nearby.

Turning the nearest corner, Harry had a sense of déjà vu as he again found a pair of students wandering the hall. Cries of "Hannah, thank Merlin" … "Susan" … "Ernie my man", and "Harrykins" – that one enthusiastically from Ginny – filled the air.

"Are _any_ Seventh Years where they're supposed to be?" Dierks chuckled.

"We were sent by Nurse Merriweather to let the Headmaster know that hags were spotted in the castle – only we can't find his office door," Hannah Abbott quickly explained.

"We did find Peeves. He swears there are goblins armed to the hills in the West Tower," Ernie Macmillian helpfully added.

"Oh yeah, 'cause I trust everything Peeves says," Ron grumbled.

"Well, there are rumors of disavowed goblins siding with Voldemort," Hermione commented, "not that I necessarily believe everything in the Prophet."

"And what are you bunch doing out and about?" Ernie finally thought to question. In response Hermione, in a way that only she could, summarized the entire situation in about a minute.

"So … hags … and a vampire?" Hannah wearily questioned. "Who invades a castle using hags and vampires? I mean, Death Eaters and trolls I'd understand. Maybe those wild werewolves. But … hags!?"

"It's not supposed to make sense," Harry assured her. "This is probably just the first wave. Their job is to cause trouble, throw everyone off balance, make us expend our energy and spread out our defenses. That's when the real attack comes."

"Harry," Hermione suddenly exclaimed, her face losing its color, "what if _he's_ coming here?"

"I'm certain he plans to eventually. That's one of the reasons it's so important I get to the Ministry. If he knows I'm there he won't need to come here. He might even hold off the main attack, which gives everyone here more time to prepare. And if I can finish him off quickly enough, we might be able to stop the invasion from even starting."

"You make it sound like you're planning on taking on You-Know-Who," Ernie scoffed.

"I am," was Harry's simple reply.

"Not only that … he's going to win," Ginny added assuredly.

"What about Dumbledore – shouldn't he be the one?" the lone Slytherin asked.

"He went to the Ministry first thing this morning," Hermione reminded everyone. "If he's not made it back by now," she paused, looking apologetically toward Harry, "we have to plan on proceeding without him."

"Hope for a niffler, plan for a nundu," Ginny agreed.

Not one to enjoy emotional moments, Ron blurted out, "we should get moving," which quickly got the others to continue their search for Percy's shortcut.

"There he is," cried Ernie, pointing to a clown painted in drab shades of red and blue so sad looking even his curly red wig looking depressed. At first he flat-out refused to open, eventually only giving in when Harry shoved his Head Boy badge right onto his left eye.

"Fine then, but first …" insisted the clown, who then tossed three crystal balls into the air, making a show of swooshing his hands around but never quite catching any of the balls so that they fell, one after the other, on his foot. With a great sob and much blubbering about how much he wanted to be good at something, he opened to reveal his doorway.

Finally arriving on the seventh floor, Harry was pleased to find himself one corridor away from their goal. Sprinting around the corner, he cracked a relieved smile as he spotted the gargoyle guardian. He knew the others were following – he could hear the thundering of their footfalls – but he didn't slow down until he was close enough to touch the gargoyle.

Hermione skidded to a stop right next to him while Dean bounced off his back, ending up beside him.

"Told me you'd be coming, Dumbledore did," the gargoyle said as it turned its head to look straight at Harry. His deep, scratchy voice took most in the group by surprise, as they hadn't realized it was capable of speech. "Hurry up then," it said as it moved aside.

Harry motioned for Hermione to go first, Dean slipping in behind her as Harry turned to make certain everyone else had caught up. Being closest, he was next through the entryway.

And that's when it happened.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** Beasts/Beings – My vampire is a mix of what Rowling gave us in HBP and traditional folklore. No glittering allowed! I figure they have to be somewhat immune to magic or else wizards wouldn't consider them too big of a threat. Same with the Sea Serpent. FB describes them as having a horse-like head and being harmless, but Glanmore Peakes is supposed to be famous for slaying one – so either he was a braggart like Lockhart or they aren't so docile after all. Either way, I think creative license would have been used to depict a vicious beast in the battle, which is why the statue is very snake-like.

The prophecy Ron was so obsessed with was given by Trelawney back in chapter 25. If you'll recall, she was cut off mid-word with a door swung into her, leaving the ending unknown.


	42. Potter, Granger, and Weasley

Do I own Harry Potter? No. Do I own Nagini? Not if you paid me a million dollars. Do I own a Horcrux? Um … I do have a rather banged up tiara … it was my mother's … and people do say she's a bit evil … and by people, I mostly mean my sisters and other relatives and pretty much anyone who's spent more than ten minutes with her … on second thought, let's just say no.

.

.

**due to the overly long delay – a quick reminder … **Harry and the gang had finally made it through the locked down castle to the gargoyle at the Headmaster's office. _"Harry motioned for Hermione to go first, Dean slipping in behind her as Harry turned to make certain everyone else had caught up. Being closest, he was next through the entryway._

_And that's when it happened."_

.

.

**Chapter 42. Potter, Granger, and Weasley**

Quick as a cobra strike … certainly swifter than any of the students would have thought possible … the large stone gargoyle sprang back into place, slapping against its stone doorway with a heavy thud. Harry, Dean and Hermione were trapped at the base of the staircase - or perhaps the others were trapped outside.

"HEY! Open up," Harry shouted at the creature's backside.

With a gritty, scraping rumble, it spun its head owl-fashion to face the incensed boy. "No can do, young one," it croaked.

"But my friends – you have to let them in," he pleaded.

Voices could clearly be heard from beyond the blocked doorway; one in particular above the others. "Harry Potter, don't you dare leave me behi—" an enraged Ginny was screaming when a loud slurpy noise muted the sounds coming from the corridor.

"It's not me Ginny, I swear. I want – I need all of you with me," he shouted back, hoping she could still hear him. Pulling his best Snape impression, he huffed loudly and shot his most evil glare at the gargoyle.

The guardian was unmoved. "I've got my orders from the Headmaster, laddie. I'm to keep Miss Weasley safe at this school."

Obviously, its voice could be heard by all, for from the other side of the thick stone statue, Ginny could be heard shrieking in reply. Her voice was too muted for Harry to understand all the words, but he got the gist of it.

"The school's in lock down," Harry tried to reason. "How do you know she's safer out there than in here?"

"Because out there are professors and protectors and an abundance of hiding places," it squawked. "Up there is a floo you know how to use. Now how would I be able to keep her inside the school if I gave her access to that fireplace?" The gargoyle shook his head, causing another tooth-clenching grinding noise. "I don't particularly want to find myself back atop the astronomy tower with nothing but flying rats to talk to all day. The girl stays where she is."

The three could hear that Ginny wasn't accepting the situation gracefully. After one particularly shocking suggestion was heard, Hermione decided it was time to get moving. "Harry, they're not going to get in. The Headmaster obviously knew you'd try to follow him, and that she'd follow you, and he didn't want that to happen. I don't think arguing with a statue is going to do us any good." Behind Harry, the gargoyle rocked his agreement. "We should go," she added, gesturing up the stairs.

Turning back to the doorway, Harry shouted, "He's not going to let you in. Find the professors and see if they need help checking the towers. And get word to your dad that he's in charge – he'll understand. And someone needs to seal Myrtle's place so not even a band of mountain trolls could get in. And—"

"Harry," Hermione pleaded as she pulled on his sleeve. "They know what to do. Come on." Not giving him the chance to answer, she began pulling him fully onto the stairs so it would start to move.

"I LOVE YOU," he yelled with all his might toward the stone guardian.

"Thanks, mate," came Ron's muffled reply.

When Harry reached the Headmaster's office he found Dean blocking the doorway, looking uncomfortably around the room. Giving him a little push into the office, Harry went straight for Albus' desk, not noticing the door shutting them in. As he searched for any clues regarding the happenings at the Ministry, Hermione stepped close to one of the few female portraits. "Can you still move around the castle?" she asked Headmistress McCloud, who, as one of the youngest past masters, was also one of the friendliest.

"Sorry, but no," she said with genuine sadness. "Once young Harry came inside the office it, too, was sealed. We can go to portraits we have in other buildings but for us, it is as if the rest of the castle no longer exists."

"That's unfortunate," Hermione replied.

"Such is the way of war," McCloud counseled, "the Deputy Headmistress could unlock us, but at the price of leaving this office vulnerable to invasion. The holder of this office, Miss Granger, holds more than mere books and furniture. It must be protected."

"But you _can_ leave the castle?" Harry piped in as he thumbed through some parchments. "Can any of you check on the state of the Ministry?"

"I went there as soon as the alarm sounded, Mr. Potter," came a quick reply from near the sorting hat. "Not that it did much good. When Minister Bluestreak took office he removed all paintings from any of the important areas … deemed us a security risk, or so he claimed. I was important enough to _merely _be moved to a waiting room with two other chaps, but nothing exciting happens there. Old Admiral Chappell – he used to hang in Accounting – told me something had certainly happened this morning, but neither of my room mates had bothered to investigate the ruckus."

"That's all you can tell us?" Hermione questioned.

With an exasperated look, the drably-painted man turned his attention to her. "I may be deceased, dear child, but I assure you I take my duty to magic and country seriously," he lectured. "In case it escaped your notice, I am a portrait. I cannot simply stroll around a place and take in the sights. I am limited by canvas and wood. I traveled to several other frames before returning. I spotted flying memos trying to get through a closed door. I checked an empty lunch room and found nothing more exciting than a coffee pot bubbling over. Oh, but when I was in the stairwell, there was that very large man with his back to me scratching his derriere as if he was digging for gold. Does that little tidbit help any? When I said 'no important areas', did you not understand? I meant all portraits are now located in underused or out-of-the-way places where _nothing important happens_."

"Sorry," a wide-eyed Hermione offered.

At some point during Hermione's dressing-down, an overwhelmed Dean had slumped into one of the chairs by the fireplace. A mug of steamy, creamy hot cocoa appeared on the nearest table, handle thoughtfully pointed toward him, and he shook his head at the surreality of it all.

Harry, meanwhile, abandoned his search as useless to listen as various other portraits gave their own accounts, most of which held more gossip than facts. Others still chimed in to point out that Hogwarts should be their first concern, starting a loud argument over autonomy and duty and faithfulness until the debate was not only out-of-control but also veering off topic. Frustrated, Harry held up his hand and was – to equal parts surprise and delight – instantly rewarded with silence.

"Got it. The Ministry's in trouble. Based on what we've already seen here, it's coming to Hogwarts, too. You all … just do whatever it is you're supposed to do in times like this to protect the school … keep her students safe … and leave the Ministry to us." Finding Professor Dippet, who to this point had remained silent, he looked him in the eye and added, "I _will_ bring him back."

Surprises continued to pile up as every former Head – from doddering Statler Cromwell (who rarely remembered why he was there) to sourpuss Phineas Nigellus Black – gave their approval.

-0-

"I LOVE YOU," Harry's voice called from behind the chunk of animated rock.

"THANKS, MATE," Ron hollered back, earning himself a whack on the arm from his sister.

"What?" he innocently asked. "A bloke can't admit he has feelings for another bloke? I think it was very big of Harry to say it."

This time the whack came from Susan Bones, who with her fellow Hufflepuffs Hannah and Ernie, had stood nearby while the siblings tried to get the gargoyle to move. The lone Slytherin in the group, Dierks Harper, had stopped a bit further away, unsure of his welcome now that Harry was gone.

"It's typical, you know," Ginny complained to Ron. "We get left behind _again_."

"I think I'm getting used to it," he shrugged. Motioning to the others he offered, "Come on, I guess. Let's show those two we don't need them to save a castle."

Falling into step beside Ron, Ginny hissed, "When this is done, I'm gonna kill him."

"No you're not," Ron calmly replied. Then, with a twin-worthy smirk, he added, "When this is done, we're gonna tell Mum they went to battle Voldemort without us. That'll teach 'em."

"Er … not to interrupt your family moment, but where are we going now?"

That stopped Ron short. For a second, he looked like he'd honestly forgotten the others were with them. He glanced down both ends of the corridor they were standing in, then scratched the back of his neck as he thought. "Some of Harry's suggestions made sense. Contacting Dad is good … and I guess visiting Moaning Myrtle couldn't hurt, as long as she keeps her toilet to herself. Don't know why we'd want to clean the towers, though."

"I think he said clear the towers, Ron," Susan laughed. "You know, get everyone to low ground. Towers tend to topple."

"Right – clear the towers. That's what I meant. That's a good job for you, Susan. Check the classrooms and bully your way into Common Rooms if you have to, and herd everyone you find toward the empty classrooms on the ground floor. Take Ernie with you … and draft any DA members you see along the way to help. The little kiddies shouldn't be running around by themselves." They nodded their agreement.

"What about me," Hannah wanted to know. "Those blighters did something to Neville and I want some payback."

Knowing exactly how she felt, Ginny quickly decided on the perfect job for the girl. "How are you with heights?"

Surprised by the question, Hannah blinked before saying. "Alright, I guess. I don't have too much trouble on a broom."

"There's one spot in the castle that's not completely affected by a lock down," Ginny began explaining. "The belfry at the top of Ravenclaw Tower will always allow owls to come and go, even when the owlery is closed. The thinking was that in times of crisis, it wouldn't be prudent to be completely cut off from the outside world."

"How –" Ron began.

"Hermione looked it up last year after we found out Umbridge was messing with the owl post. Now, as I was saying, you have to enter Ravenclaw Tower – you know where the entrance is, right? … good – then just inside the door to the dormitories should be a tight spiral staircase leading straight to the belfry. Give me a minute and I'll write you the note to send to my Dad – oh, and you should probably send a warning to Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks. Think you can do that?"

"How do I –"

"Get in?" Ginny finished for her. "There's no password, you just have to answer a stupid question. If that fails … beg."

"Hannah shouldn't be off by herself," Susan interrupted.

"I'll go with her," Harper quickly volunteered. "I'm not feeling up to traipsing all over the castle again just now. Besides, I've always wanted to see what the dorms are like above ground. And we can clear that tower while we're there, so that's one less for you."

Ernie turned to Ron, looking skeptical. After all, Harper might be in the DA and a friend of Harry's, but he was still a Slytherin. Ron only shrugged in reply, causing Ernie to sigh. "Fine," he conceded, "but what are you two going to be doing?"

"We're going to take care of Myrtle's place then we'll join the professors in defending the castle," Ginny replied.

"Look you lot," Ron added. "I know they seem like easy jobs, but you heard and saw the trouble we had getting here. Keep on your toes, don't try to play hero –"

"That's Harry's job," Ginny muttered.

"… and especially watch your backs. Everyone clear on what they're doing?"

"We'll be fine, Ron," Susan assured him. "You might not know it, but we Hufflepuffs are made of tough stuff. We know a trick or two."

"Right then," Ron said in a commanding voice as he straightened his back to look every bit a leader. "Everyone do their parts and when this is over we'll split a couple bottles of Firewhisky. Harry's treat."

After Ginny wrote her note and everyone promised again to be careful the group separated, each knowing they had an important job to do. Ron and Ginny started retracing their earlier steps in hopes of getting to Myrtle's favorite haunt, or more precisely, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, as quickly as possible. Catching a glimpse of a snag on Ron's jumper reminded Ginny of an important ally she'd completely forgotten – they all had, and she felt very stupid for the oversight. With an exaggerated look of innocence on her face, she called out, "oh Dobby … come here please."

-0-

Inside Albus' office, Harry was finishing up his pep-talk with the portraits when a snapping sound drew the wands and the attention of all three living occupants. "Dobby is being sorry, Harry Potter Sir," he began as he pranced in place, " … but your Mistress is asking Dobby to bring her to Harry Potter Sir and Dobby is explaining Dumblydore has forbidden all the House Elves from taking her anywhere and then she is telling Dobby …" … the distraught elf paused to give his ears a very painful twist … "she is telling Dobby that she isn't needing him anymore. That Dobby is to find you and keep you safe or Mistress is going to find all of Dobby's socks and she is … she is going to be unraveling them!"

The elf was clearly torn between Harry's original request for him to watch Ginny and his fear for his beloved socks. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling.

"Dobby, you can't put yourself in harm's way like that," an aghast Hermione insisted.

"What Hermione means," Harry quickly explained before Dobby could say something to really upset Hermione, "is that we can take care of ourselves."

Over the rim of his cocoa Dean snorted. "Maybe you can, but not everyone else."

"Dean's right, Harry," Hermione agreed. "There are a lot of students in this school that are too young or just plain aren't experienced enough to handle a real fight. We've done this type of thing before and even we don't know exactly what's coming or how much time we have."

Looking from Hermione to Dean to Dobby gave him an idea. "Dobby, do you think you could watch over the younger students? Keep them safe? Maybe even convince the other House Elves to help?"

Standing as tall and proud as his short stature would allow, Dobby pumped his fists, straightened his back, and narrowed his eyes. "Dobby swears it will be done, Harry Potter." Before Harry could even blink, Dobby popped out of the room.

"Harry, that was brilliant," Hermione gushed. "Oh, but I hope they will be alright."

Harry had one more thing to do before leaving. Pointing his wand toward the door to the private quarters, Harry summoned a small carpet bag from his room. Quickly sifting through it, he pulled out his mirror, a bezoar wrapped in waxed paper, a stubby charcoal pencil, and a small glass jar loosely wrapped in an old Woolsey cloth. The jar and its cloth went into his Mokeskin pouch next to a small potion tube while the other items were stuffed into various inner and outer robe pockets.

"Right then, let's go," he announced as he stepped toward the fireplace, very close to the chair Dean was using. Hermione tapped their fellow Gryffindor on his shoulder, but instead of rising he gave his head a small shake.

"I don't think I should go," he confessed. "Not that I don't appreciate the invite, but without a wand I'd just be in the way. Besides, this bite on my arm still feels kinda wonky. I don't think that potion you gave me was strong enough. I hate to quit on you, but I really think I'd be more a hassle than a help."

"S'okay," Harry told him. "To be honest, I was kinda worried about you. Don't need you keeling over mid-battle. It's not like Hermione and I've never done this sort of thing before. We'll be fine on our own."

"There's important work here, too," Hermione added. "You should keep track of any information the portraits manage to bring. Professor McGonagall will get here eventually, and it would help her to know what's going on out there."

"Good idea," Harry agreed, moving a small writing table up to Dean's seat. A quick glance at the nearby shelf gave him another idea. "And take this, too," he added as the Sorting Hat fell into his friend's lap. "In case things go horribly wrong and trouble gets in, just ask Hogwarts for help and stick your hand in the hat."

Dean held the hat by its floppy brim, looking it over skeptically. "Right. Thanks."

"Give him the map," Hermione urged, "so he can keep track of wayward students. That'll make them easier to find when it's safe."

Harry retrieved the Marauders Map from Albus' desk drawer (once again missing Dean's shock at his actions) and taking only enough time to confirm it was already activated, dropped it onto Dean's lap so that it half-covered the hat.

"Take care of yourself, Dean," Hermione offered before turning to grab some floo powder.

As Hermione and Harry quietly discussed strategy, Dean shifted his eyes from the Sorting Hat to the strange map spread across his lap. "Hey – there's Seamus," he called, "with …Su Li? That dog."

Nearby, Hermione used a Disillusionment charm on first herself, then Harry. "Together?"

Harry agreed as he tossed the powder into the fire. As the flames glowed green Hermione managed to grab his arm and the two stepped into the flames.

"Sweet dragon dung," Dean exclaimed, looking up from the map.

Harry barely registered his friend's words as he was busy shouting "Ministry of Magic."

"Harry – are you –"

The rest was cut off by the rush of the floo.

As soon as the fire finished flaring around them, Harry and Hermione dropped to the ground with spells on their lips and wands at the ready. Had anyone been watching and seen the fire spring to life, they most likely would have sent their spells chest high – which is why Hermione insisted they land low. It had been a good idea but a wasted effort, as there were no witnesses to their arrival, which only added to Harry's unease. Unlike when they'd arrived in his Fifth Year, at this time of day the place should be bustling with people. Instead, it was deathly quiet.

It didn't help that most of the torches and candles had gone out, leaving eerie streams of light that flickered across the shadows. Even the ceiling – normally a bright and cheerful blue – had an overcast pallor, its gilded trim seemingly tarnished. Harry couldn't help but compare the place to a long-forgotten mausoleum.

Glancing quickly to his side, Harry was surprised he could clearly see Hermione. The fireplace must have been cursed; it was the only explanation for why the Disillusionment Charm had failed. He tapped Hermione, who turned her attention from the far end of the hall to him, her eyes widening as she, too, noticed they weren't quite as chameleon-like as they should have been. With a shrug, she turned away again, and Harry turned his own attention to his surroundings.

The fireplace they'd stepped out of was rather close to the golden gates and security stand that protected the Ministry from outsiders, leaving the bulk of the floos, not to mention the fountain, in the opposite direction. Harry only spared that end of the hall a moment of his time – just long enough to determine no enemies were lurking there while taking in the damage. Another magical fountain was in ruins, he noticed, with chunks of stone strewn around the area and water leaking across the floor.

Every fireplace on the opposite side of the hall – the exit side – was utterly destroyed. More unsettling were the motionless legs just visible under a particularly heavy pile of rubble. Harry's attention was drawn away from the poor soul when Hermione nudged him and pointed to the unmanned security stand. Understanding, Harry nodded once, and with no further discussion the two began to quietly walk toward the gates, staying as close to the fireplaces as possible.

They had very nearly left the relative safety of the floo area when a wizard noisily stumbled out of a crooked wooden door practically hidden behind the counter. Harry and Hermione instantly stepped back and squished themselves into the cramped space between two fireplaces; Harry going so far as to suck in his breath to fit better.

Carefully peering around the brickwork, Hermione pulled quickly back. "Eww," she harshly whispered, "he's messing with his fly."

Harry stretched on his toes to look over and around Hermione, only to cringe himself as the wizard sniffed his fingers before shrugging and wiping them on his robes. Harry didn't recognize the man, though his face bore an uncanny resemblance to Huxley Pig, the adventurous piglet from a show Dudley used to watch on the telly; a resemblance he found oddly appropriate.

"Death Eaters are pigs," he grumbled before jabbing his wand at the offending man, who dropped to the ground having never noticed the intruders.

Leaving their hiding place, Harry searched the immediate area for other signs of life while Hermione used a combination of spells to lift the stiff-as-a-board wizard's body to the ceiling and stick it firmly in place. "That should keep anyone from noticing him."

With an evil smirk that looked very out of place on her face, Hermione retrieved the man's wand from the ground, looked straight up into his wide-open eyes, and snapped it. She pocketed the pieces.

Not bothering to hide his amusement, Harry's green eyes met her brown, and with a simple quirk of his head and nod of hers, they cautiously opened the gates. Before them stood the bay of lifts, their metal surfaces tarnished and covered in soot. The doors of the middle lift were curved outward as if something inside had exploded, and at the far end, another lift's doors were hanging at odd angles. Harry was about to suggest they find the stairs when a loud cry of "stop hiding, you Ministry hack" came from down the narrow hall beyond the farthest lift.

Harry immediately moved toward the voice, his wand confidently in his hand, and with a well-put-out sigh, Hermione followed.

Sprinting down the hall, Harry picked out a female voice snapping back, "hey now … I work for the Ministry, too."

"Yeah, but you're not a hack, Tingle."

"No, just a traitor and a coward," shouted back a third voice over a loud splintering sound; a voice Harry recognized.

"Percy," Hermione blurted out as she came up behind Harry, who had stopped just outside a double-wide doorway.

"And at least two Death Eaters," Harry added as he peered into what appeared to be an employee lounge based on the many chairs and sofas filling the area. The attackers had their backs to the duo as they argued in front of a heavy wooden door that stubbornly refused to open for them. Perhaps it had something to do with the thick black wrought iron rods woven across the face of the door. Even the egg-shaped hole blasted out of its middle wasn't enough to give them entry.

"Just kill 'em and be done with it, Mulciber," a bulky, balding witch (based on her high-pitched, squeaky voice – for she certainly looked male from behind) with ill-fitting robes urged her compatriot when yet another severing spell failed to weaken the bars.

Hermione counted with her fingers … _one … two … three_ … and in unison she and Harry knocked out Mulciber and the woman called Tingle. "All clear, Percy," Harry yelled through the damaged door as Hermione summoned the Death Eater's wands.

"Harry?," a surprised Percy cried through the hole in the door. "Is that you? What the devil are you doing here? No … wait … " and Percy thrust his wand toward Harry's chest … "Tell me when –" he started.

"Give it up, Percy," Harry interrupted. "Do you honestly know anyone else who would come _into_ the Ministry when it's under attack?"

"Fair enough," the Weasley brother agreed before stepping back so he could open his door. It took several minutes, as he'd used some very strong charms and jinxes to hold it closed. He came out to find Harry watching Hermione, who was levitating the stunned bodies so they would be hidden behind one of the sofas.

"What's in there that it's so well protected," Hermione absently asked as Tingle's body dropped not-so-gently to the floor.

"Only loo in the place that has heated and cushioned seats," Percy answered with such a straight face Harry nearly believed him. "I'm very glad to see you two," he added, "not that I condone leaving the school in the middle of the day … or rushing into trouble … but we seem to be overrun at the moment so the help is appreciated. Where are the others?" Percy added as he looked behind his rescuers.

"Just us, I'm afraid," Harry explained. "The school's in a bit of lock down right now – a giant or two are in the forest and a few hags got in … and one vampire that we know of … oh, and possibly renegade goblins … nothing too major."

Percy looked horrified as Harry waved off his concerns. He'd already turned his attention to the two stunned bodies. In his mind, he could hear Snape lecturing ad nauseam on the main flaw in ordinary wizards' fighting styles – and of course, he considered Harry ordinary – _"stunning a Death Eater doesn't stop him, it only slows him down."_ Harry hadn't pointed out that he, himself, had come to that conclusion quite some time ago. Instead, he'd listened (mostly) politely as Snape had described several creative options to fully incapacitate the enemy. Snape had even gone so far as to provide one of the means to do it.

Not even aware of his movements, Harry's left hand moved to pat his Mokeskin pouch, inside which were two priceless potions. The first was the miracle elixir Snape had given him to take away any pain in his head; he was saving that one until he knew Voldemort was closer as its effects only last about an hour. The other one, though … well, as Snape had put it, _"morally ambiguous is preferable to dead any day"._

"Are you sure they're out," he finally asked Hermione, interrupting her hushed discussion with Percy concerning Albus' note from this morning.

"No, Harry, I'm certain they're pretending. After all, I've never done this sort of thing before."

Ignoring Percy's snort of amusement (or was that disbelief), he moved closer and knelt beside the male. Reaching into his pouch, he fished around until he had the cloth-wrapped bottle in his hand. Carefully, he poured a very small amount of the thin greenish-gray potion onto the cloth, and after a brief moment of indecision, he slapped the cloth over Mulciber's nose while holding his jaw shut with his other hand. Considering his victim was already unconscious, he held it for a good long time – long enough for Percy to demand to know what he was doing and for Hermione to assure him it was nothing fatal – before letting go and sitting back.

The cloth dropped forgotten to the ground as Harry stared at Mulciber, who didn't look any different. He almost felt guilty, but then he remembered finding Neville at the Yule Ball. With a jab of his wand he barked out "Ennervate" … and as hoped, the Death Eater didn't so much as twitch. To be certain, he pushed up his victim's eyelid, and sure enough, the eye was as red as Voldemort's.

"What have you done," Percy nervously demanded to know.

"It's Endless Slumber," Hermione explained as Harry moved to Tingle. "The potion Voldemort intends to use on Harry. Perfectly harmless, really, if you have the antidote. Which, come to think of it, they don't know exists. This way, they can't be revived by other Death Eaters and they can't escape. They'll be right here when the Aurors come to collect them and Professor Snape can awaken them."

"And if something happens to Professor Snape?" Percy pressed.

"They're Death Eaters," Harry reasoned as he stood from Tingle's side. "But if it makes you feel better, I'm mostly certain Snape wrote down the instructions somewhere." He shoved the potion-stained cloth and bottle in his pocket for easy access, then had Hermione do a quick cleaning charm on his hands for safety's sake.

"We should get going," Harry began, but Hermione cut him off.

"Before we move on, I think Percy needs to tell us what he can about the attack."

"Did they get the Minister?," Harry interrupted before Percy could answer. "What about Dumbledore – do you know anything about him? Was Voldemort actually here or did he just send his merry band of murderers to do his dirty work for him? How did you –"

"Enough, Harry," Percy finally shouted. "There's not much I can tell you, unfortunately. I was in the archives when trouble arrived, you see. As I didn't witness the initial attack, I've no firm intelligence regarding how or where it started. Thank Merlin someone was able to sound the alarm – I shudder to think how easily the Death Eaters could have taken control without it. For some time now, several key employees, including those of us on the Minister's staff, have had specific instructions on what to do in such a situation. Top secret, security related instructions. That's actually how I ended up down here. When it finally sounded like the worst of the fighting was over, I decided to try to get to the Minister. I thought I'd managed to avoid detection, but as you saw, I was mistaken."

"You think the Minister is still safe?" Hermione asked.

"I know he is, and the Death Eaters were quite vocal in their displeasure when he escaped capture." Percy glanced around the area as if testing its security. "They don't realize he's still in the building in a safe room."

"And Dumbledore? And Voldemort?" Harry pressed.

"I'm not certain if He Who Must Not Be Named was personally here. He might have been at the beginning – and of course when the Headmaster arrived we all assumed – but I never saw him."

"'Course you didn't," Harry snorted. "Otherwise you'd be a lot more dead. So what happened to the Headmaster?"

"I only caught a glimpse of him from down a corridor, but shortly afterwards, that dung-licker Yaxley made an announcement calling for him to surrender."

"Did he do it?" an alarmed Harry asked.

"I don't know for certain, but it seems likely. Before you arrived Tingle was bragging they'd caught 'the big fool'. As I know the Minister is still safe," and here Percy paused momentarily to hold his arm upright, showing off a thin red line circling just above his wrist, "I can only assume it had something to do with Dumbledore instead."

"Oh, a Life Line … I've read about those. Tied to the Minister, I presume? Does it really warm up when he's in danger?"

"Not the time, Hermione," Harry chided. With a deep sigh, he rubbed his forehead, more from habit than due to pain. Realizing what he was doing, he chuckled as he lower his hand. "I guess you could say I've got my own special version of that. At least we know _he's_ not here now."

Harry was about to say more, but the muted sound of footfalls in the hallway caught his attention. He snapped his wand toward the doorway, a curse at the ready. By the time soft murmuring could also be heard, two other wands had joined his.

The grumbling was getting loud enough to understand, which was the only warning they had before a small ratty man stomped into the room.

"—they would show me some respect! I do more than any of –" Pettigrew's sentence came to as abrupt a halt as his body did. To say he was surprised to find himself at the wrong end of three unfriendly wands – especially with one being Harry Potter's wand – would be an understatement. "Eep!"

He tried to turn and run but was caught by Hermione's tripping jinx, falling into a wooden cabinet before sliding to the floor. He quickly rolled over so he was flat on his back while bringing his wand up to aim straight for Harry. "Confringo" he croaked … but instead of a curse, tiny sparks sputtered from its end.

"Forgetting something?" Harry taunted as he lazily summoned the wand, though he kept a close eye on the man. "An old debt, perhaps?"

Pettigrew didn't answer, choosing instead to nervously glance from person to person.

"Oh no you don't," Harry yelled at the first sign of the transformation. With a sharp flick of his wand he growled the spell Snape had created to make a door impassable to anyone with the Dark Mark. The doorway filled with a very girly pink light that popped, sizzled, and sent out rainbow sparks seconds later when a tattered rat tried to run through it. He was violently repelled into the legs of an unprepared Percy, who had to half-step backward to catch his balance.

"Grab him," Hermione shouted even as Harry dove on top of the traitor, trapping the fur-covered body between his own and the floor.

"_Owww_," he cried as he immediately rolled away, his hand reaching for a spot just below his left collar bone. "He bit me!"

Wormtail, desperate for freedom, made another run at the door, but Harry's seal held and the rat was once again thrown backward.

This time he was scooped up by Percy. "Scabbers?"

Hermione wasted no time blasting the rat with the spell to force him into human form, much to the disgust of Percy, who found himself clutching the scraggly man by the shoulder.

"Still got the heart of a kitten, eh Peter?" Harry quipped as Hermione came over to check his wound.

"You'll see who's the lion and who's the sloth when my Lord gets his hands on you," Peter defiantly shot back.

"Sloth?" questioned Percy, who to his credit hadn't let go of his captive. "Is that some new slang I'm not familiar with?"

"No, just the best he could come up with – _owww_ – that stings, Hermione."

"Oh hush," she said, possibly adding "big baby" – Harry wasn't certain he'd heard that part correctly as it was said much quieter. "You don't want to get infected, do you? Who knows what kind of horrible diseases he's picked up being around that snake all the time."

Out the corner of his eye, Harry saw the glint of reflected light. As Pettigrew's silver hand shot up and closed around Percy's wrist, intent on smashing it, Harry fired off "Deprimo", hoping to shatter the magical hand. Instead, when the spell hit the silver it sputtered before fading away. Pettigrew snorted in amusement even as Percy's knees buckled and he howled in pain. His wrist looked nearly flattened in Pettigrew's metal fist.

"Petrificus Totalus," Harry bellowed. The spell smacked into the human rat and instantly spread across his body, down his arm, across the metallic appendage, and into Percy. Two rigid bodies, still attached hand-to-wrist, thumped to the ground.

Hermione dropped to her knees, trying to work out how to separate the two men, but Harry didn't have any patience left. With the tip of his wand touching where the metal met the flesh of Peter's arm, he hissed, "Diffindo". Nothing happened. Pettigrew, he suspected, would be laughing if he could. Pulling his wand back slightly, he tried the strongest cutting curse he could think of … "_Sectumsempra_" he forcefully spit out … and with an ear-splitting creaking noise, the silver closest to Pettigrew's skin began expanding and contracting in a rhythm-less cycle until, with one last squeal, the metal cracked … the hand relaxed … and the whole thing fell to the ground like so much useless scrap metal. A split second later, it disappeared in a burst of orange and blue flame.

Percy was quickly unfrozen and healed as best as they could manage, considering most of their first aid supplies had been left behind with Ginny. His wrist was crumpled and ugly and probably hurt like crazy, but at least it moved and he didn't complain. Luckily, it hadn't been his wand arm so he wasn't left defenseless.

Turning their attention to their captive, Harry lifted his spell at the same time Hermione cast hers, leaving Peter glued to the floor but able to speak.

"Have you any idea the trouble you are in?" Percy indignantly shouted as he moved to look down at the man. "Attacking a Ministry official … trespassing … assault with intent to harm … and having the Dark Mark, no doubt. The only way you'll be leaving Azkaban is in a wooden box."

"You've bigger problems than that, Peter," Harry joined in. "Voldemort doesn't take kindly to those who let me get away … and I'm definitely getting away."

"No … Harry … please … I never meant for this to happen … I've tried to leave … I don't want to serve him anymore. He killed my friends … he laughed at their deaths … he laughs at me."

"And yet, you'd turn me over to him in a heartbeat, wouldn't you?" Harry pressed.

"No … never … only if I had to … but I don't want to, Harry. You have to believe me … I … I owe you so much."

"Yes, you do," Harry agreed.

"I … I'll repay you, if you let me go."

Behind them, someone snorted in amusement, and Harry had to fight to keep a smirk from his own face. For reasons he didn't want to explore, he was enjoying this immensely.

"I can tell you what he plans for you," Peter rushed to explain, "surely you want t-to know that."

"We know all about Endless Slumber, Pettigrew," Hermione confidently said, "you'll have to do better than that."

"The Minister," Pettigrew desperately shouted. "He plans to kill him."

Hermione scoffed. "Now you're just being silly."

"You … you already know about that? Of course you know about that," he conceded. "Then … the school –"

This time is was Harry who snorted. "Let me guess … vampires, hags and giants? Did you forget where we came from?" To emphasize his point, he tapped on the Gryffindor badge on his school robe. "You're not giving us anything useful, Pettigrew."

In a bored manner, Harry began tapping his wand against his leg as he sighed dramatically. With each tap, angry red sparks fell to the ground where they fizzled before blinking out, and with each spark, Pettigrew's eyes grew wider. "Decisions … decisions," he absently muttered.

"You know, I've been wanting to give human to vegetable transfiguration a try," Hermione innocently said. "I think I've got the theory down."

"The Dark Lord's still at our base," Pettigrew suddenly blurted out. "He'll stay there until … until he gets word that you're isolated. Then he'll come out. Not before."

"Look at me, Peter," Harry commanded. Pettigrew's head turned, his eyes locking on Harry's, as if acting on their own. Harry stared intently into the fear-filled eyes for a few seconds and felt around for deception of any kind. "It's the truth, as far as he knows. Guess you live another day after all, Wormtail," he said as he pulled out the potion-soaked cloth. "Too bad you'll sleep through it."

When he was done he stood, feeling a bit dirty, knowing he'd enjoyed doing that. A compassionate hand fell on his shoulder and he turned to find Hermione giving him a knowing look. "You're only human and he's a special case," she quietly told him. "It's when you enjoy it every time that it's a problem."

"No chance of that," he assured her. "You'd kick my arse before that could happen."

"Right you are, Mister Potter," she laughed. "So now what do we do?" she added loud enough for Percy to hear.

"Getting to the Minister should be our priority," Percy insisted, "and to do that we need to get to the Department of Magical Transportation on level six. There's a portkey to the Minister's safe room hidden in the Portkey Office."

"Of course there is," Hermione mumbled. Sometimes, wizard logic escaped her.

"Look … Percy," Harry began, and Hermione recited the rest of his sentence in her head, "I'm not going with you."

Closing her eyes, she shook her head as she blew out her breath. "He's wants to find the Headmaster," she explained to Percy. "But …", and here she turned her attention back to her friend although she was still speaking to Percy, "we'll travel with you as far as we can … won't we, Harry?"

"Yeah," he oh-so-quickly assured them. "But finding Seba is my priority – well, that and finishing off The Noseless One."

"That goes without saying," Hermione chided.

Percy nearly chuckled (which for him was the equivalent of a belly-laugh). "Noseless One … apt it may be, but I certainly hope name calling is not an indication that you are not taking the situation seriously. After all, for you to believe that you are going to be the one to—"

"Of course not," Harry quickly interrupted, hoping Percy believed the lie. "I just meant it's likely I'll run into him – or rather, he'll run into me – so I'll stay on my toes just in case."

Percy looked skeptically from Harry, who looked remarkably like George offering him a tasty treat, to Hermione, who offered a weak shrug of support. "Not that it matters," he finally said, "since You Know Who's not here. If _that man_," he spit out, pointing to Pettigrew's motionless form, "can be believed – and you seem to think he can – You Know Who is orchestrating the attacks from their headquarters and our latest reports place that somewhere in Northern Devonshire."

"He'll come here eventually," Harry pressed.

Percy didn't seem concerned. "The Head of the entire Auror Department is with the Minister personally seeing to his safety. When we get to the safe room, he will be able to use our portkey to bring an entire squadron of Aurors back to retake the Ministry."

Although Percy seemed certain such a plan would succeed, Harry wasn't as confident. He looked like he might argue, so Hermione stepped in – an argument wasn't going to get anybody anywhere – and steered the conversation to safer territory by asking how they would get to level six, which turned out to be a series of hidden staircases. Percy insisted they were the safest route, as very few knew how to access them.

_'Hope they're better than Hogwart's,'_ Harry thought and catching Hermione's eye, he could tell she felt the same. It was like they couldn't catch a break today.

"Then we'd best get moving," Hermione finally sighed.

Percy took the lead as they left the lounge, with he and Hermione watching ahead and around corners. Harry followed, keeping watch behind the trio as they passed through a series of empty hallways and deserted rooms. Finally, they arrived at a narrow, winding, seemingly endless staircase tucked behind a singing bush (which was humming Puff the Magic Dragon in its sleep).

As they moved in the safety of the hidden stairway, Percy shared more details of the initial attack. "It was mayhem when the alarm sounded," he admitted. "Most of the workers, the clerks and office folk, were quick to surrender or easily captured. I don't honestly know if I prefer the former or the latter."

"Don't be too hard on them, Percy," Hermione spoke up. "Most witches and wizards have never been in a real fight and wouldn't know what to do. I imagine it's been quite some time since the majority of them took Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Can you see someone like Perkins taking down a Death Eater?"

Harry stayed quiet; now wasn't the time to disagree with Hermione.

"Very true," Percy conceded, "especially considering the quality of education in that area over the years, or should I say lack thereof? There were some, of course, who could and did fight back … but there were also secret supporters like Tingle who turned on their colleagues. I'm certain the Aurors and hit wizards did their best, considering they were outnumbered and caught by surprise. I know some were killed."

"What did they do with their captives?"

"They seemed to be forcing them downward. Level 10 would be my guess, as there would be plenty of space and its already very secure. The important people, though … Aurors, department supervisors, and of course any known Dumbledore supporters were being incapacitated or outright killed. Honestly, I've never been more thankful that father's main office is elsewhere. Him not being here today was one less worry."

Neither Harry nor Hermione had the chance to respond, as they'd reached the top of the stairs. "We need to switch staircases," Percy whispered. A simple spell told them the hallway beyond was empty, so they climbed out and continued as they had before, with Percy in the lead and Harry at the rear. Not all the doors lining the hall were closed, so the trio did their best to get past them without drawing any attention.

Unlike at Hogwarts, no obstacles popped into their path and they safely made it to the next hidden staircase, which was behind one of the enchanted windows. "Careful now," Percy advised as he stepped into the dark stairwell. Hermione, holding her wand high for light, followed closely behind. Harry entered, checked one last time to confirm they weren't being observed, then pushed the window shut. Instantly, dozens of torches sprang to life, illuminating rickety wooden steps which looked like they'd been eaten through by something in several places. Grasping the handrail firmly, Harry started his descent, paying close attention to every step.

The stairs ended in a triangular shaped space roughly the size of a lift. The staircase dominated one of the walls and another was nearly filled by an over-sized gilded frame, and inside the frame was a masculine yet cozy study, complete with bookshelves, roaring fire, and a great carved desk. The only thing missing was an occupant – though if that was good news or bad Harry couldn't decide.

In the center of the third wall was a door with a small brass plaque, on which **_Level 6, Dept of Magical Transportation_** was engraved in such swirly decorative lettering that it was hard to read. When Percy's surveillance spell couldn't read through the door, it was decided Harry and Hermione would Disillusion themselves to provide cover for Percy, who opened the door. Seeing no threats, Percy motioned them to follow him into what Harry recognized as the rather small, cluttered lobby of the Apparition test center.

Stepping fully into the room, they allowed the door to swing shut and Harry found himself facing a door-sized instructional poster depicting apparition etiquette. The room itself appeared to have been the scene of a struggle. Many of the chairs were overturned, magazines were torn and scattered about, the large plants and filing cabinets were pushed out of place, and the glass partition to the inner office was cracked.

The room appeared to be devoid of life, but to be certain Hermione checked. "Homenum revelio," she confidently called out, visibly impressing Percy. Harry, however, was more concerned with the tinny "ping" and flash of light which indicated there was someone hiding in the office.

Several things happened in the span of a few seconds: a loud squeal came from behind a tall, bushy Flitterbloom plant … Harry spun toward the squeaking plant, prepared to attack … but Percy (who couldn't really see Harry) also moved, unknowingly blocking Harry's view … "Move," Harry growled to Percy at the same moment Percy called out "You there" to whomever was poking their wand through the large leaves of the plant.

Hermione took the time to toss a quick sound-deafening spell toward the main office door so the fight wouldn't draw outside attention.

As Harry shifted to the right to get a clear angle, a series of spells came from the plant – sharp snapping sounds accompanied by globs of pink goo which splattered across random surfaces – an iron wall sconce, a banged-up metal cabinet, and of course the walls.

Percy sprang into action, which consisted of sweeping his left arm wide while flourishing his wand in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Gilderoy Lockhart at his infamous dueling club.

Harry, who was trying to move around the Weasley brother, was preparing to send a powerful stunning spell when Percy's wild arm sweep inadvertently shoved him sideways. His spell went wide as he lost his balance and crashed into the goo-coated metal cabinet. Before he could re-aim, another goo pellet impacted the cabinet, splashing its pinkness across Harry's face.

"Wait … just wait," Percy was now shouting, though who he was shouting to was open for debate.

Despite having pink slime that stank of the heavy floral perfume favored by old ladies dripping down his face and smeared on his robes; despite a wet feeling near his pocket that told him something had broken in his tumble; despite the fact he was already mentally planning to kill Percy as soon as he was able, Harry managed to spit out "Expelliarmus."

A feminine voice cried a not-nice phrase as the wand shot toward Harry, who caught it with ease. Hermione quickly came forward and thrust her wand through the leaves to dig into the hidden woman's chest.

Drama over, Harry turned toward Percy, ready to give him a good chewing out.

"You look ridiculous," Percy laughed - effectively stopping Harry before he started. "You're half invisible and half pink. Let me cancel the spell," he offered as he stepped toward Harry, only to jump back as Harry's wand snapped in his direction.

"Harry …" Hermione said in such a way that Harry understood she was both reminding him of her situation and begging him not to kill his some-day brother-in-law.

With a much put-upon sigh, Harry tapped himself on the head as he muttered the counter-charm. As an after thought, he stepped forward and did the same to Hermione.

"I had to stop you, Harry," Percy explained once he could see the dark glare the boy was aiming in his direction. "You were about to blow her through the roof but I knew she wasn't a Death Eater or supporter or the like. She was hiding – didn't attack until we revealed her hiding place."

"Some Death Eaters are cowards," Hermione patiently explained, "who would pretend to be a victim just to lure you closer."

"Or pretend to be someone you trust," Harry darkly added as he checked his pocket to see what had broken. He didn't see how the color drained away from Percy's face, didn't acknowledge as the red-head whispered "like Penelope".

"I'm neither of those," the woman called out in a slight accent Harry couldn't place. "I know not how to prove this, but I'm not, I swear on Excalibur."

"Then who are you?" Hermione coolly countered. "What are you doing hiding in here? And come out of there so I can see you properly."

That the woman did, tumbling to the ground in a pile of ripped off leaves. She must have found Hermione particularly threatening, for she didn't even attempt to stand as she began explaining in a rush, which made her rather difficult to understand in places, how she was completely innocent and didn't really understand who all those bad men were.

Harry listened as he carefully banished everything from one of his pockets.

"And you've worked here how long," Hermione pressed, not happy with the witch's lack of details. Percy, Harry noticed, seemed a bit lost, as if he wasn't certain what he should be doing now. He kept looking around the room between furtive glances at their hostage. At least Hermione knew what to do. In fact, she had things well enough in hand that Harry was able to concentrate on clearing away as much of the pink mess he was wearing as he could, although some of it simply refused to be separated from his hair.

"Hold on … I know who you are," Percy excitedly interrupted Hermione mid-question. "You're a Demerest … the new ambassador from the ICW … I heard his daughter was working in the building. Goodness, no wonder you were frightened."

Before anyone could stop him, Percy reached down and helped her stand, and as she came up, she cried out pitifully and threw herself at the surprised Weasley, clutching his robes as her head dropped to his shoulder. "There, there," he hesitantly said as he brushed his hand down her long hair in comfort.

Harry studied the scene before him. She was slightly taller than Percy and appeared much younger than he'd first assumed, maybe only a few years older than him. There was a certain exotic beauty to her, he supposed, with her wavy dark hair, deep complexion, and bright brown eyes, but she was a willowy, delicate looking thing who clearly didn't know how to defend herself. She'd faced three unknowns during an attack and she'd fought back with children's play pellets, for Merlin's sake. Definitely not his type, although it occurred to him that Percy was being much friendlier than was normal. In fact, he had yet to quote a single Ministry regulation to the girl. _'Perhaps …'_

"Harry …you stink," Hermione laughed as she stepped closer.

"Hadn't noticed," he shot back. As Hermione took pity on him and refreshed his robes he leaned close and confessed, "we lost the Endless Slumber."

"Could have been worse," she reasoned. "At least we were able to take out a few Death Eaters with it. Can you believe _that_?" she hissed, motioning toward Percy with her head.

"I know. Seems like there'd be a rule against canoodling during a battle. You know … Section Ten, Proper Behavior During Times of Crisis," he improvised

"Sub Section B-12," she added with a grin, "Invasion by Giants, Trolls, or Wizards of Extremely Low Intelligence."

"Are you two laughing," Percy indignantly called out. "This is not the appropriate time. We're in the midst of an invasion and Yasmine is terrified."

They couldn't help it, their laughter refused to be contained.

Percy reacted by shooting them disapproving looks as he turned his head and whispered something to the girl, who nodded in response and seemed to burrow further into his arms.

It looked very intimate. Too intimate for comfort, Harry decided as he quickly looked away. His laughter abruptly stopped as his thoughts shifted to the one he'd like to be holding tight right now.

"Right," Hermione announced, having also sobered, "I'll just go … see if I can figure out what's outside the door." She unnecessarily pointed out the door to the hallway before walking away. Harry wasn't fooled; he could tell that her mind, too, was in a castle far away.

He thought about doing something equally useful … and his mind settled on just the thing. Reaching into his inner robe pocket – one that had been spared when he'd fallen into the cabinet – he pulled out his enchanted mirror. Casting a quick glance at Percy (he wasn't paying Harry the slightest attention) he wiped none-existent dust from its surface and silently prayed Ginny had hers handy and was free to respond.

"My Ginny," he softly but forcefully called into the mirror.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes about chapter:** There. No cliff-hanger. Happy?

Sorry if this chapter feels unfinished, but it's actually one half of a very long chapter that I decided to break to make it easier to work with. This was tricky to write, as I didn't want a repeat of Hogwarts, where there was trouble around every corner, but (a) I needed to force them into the secluded stairs so they could talk freely and (b) the place is overrun – this can't be as easy as it was in OotP, right? Hopefully, I hit a good balance.

**Notes about story:** Aside from major upheaval (a death in the family, parents into separate nursing homes, oh, and trying to organize an ice show around all that) in real life, since my last update, three (count them - three!) plot problems reared their ugly heads, causing major delays. First was a thread that was, to be painfully blunt, redundant feeling and boring as all get out, and had infected several chapters. Easy but time consuming to fix. Second, I had what I thought was a great plot point, but when I re-read it I realized it delved into Super!Harry territory – yikes! And third, a story-arc that just felt like it was spinning its wheels. I had to cut about 10 typed pages, completely change a few more scenes and I'm still working on fixing the repercussions to the rest of the story. Our dear Yasmine is all that remains of that arc. Hopefully, the next chapter won't take quite so long!


	43. Dumb Bores and Death Eaters

I once dreamed I owned Harry Potter. I wrote a little ditty about it. Goes something like this …

.

.

**43. Dumb Bores and Death Eaters**

Ginny Weasley was nervous, not that she'd admit it to anyone. She'd made a vow to her Harry, one she'd meant with all her heart and magic, and now she was breaking it. It had been on that wonderful summer day when they'd stood in Hogwarts' abandoned chapel and practiced their vows, sealing them with a glorious magical kiss.

Harry had sweetly stumbled through his vows before surprising her by slipping her engagement ring onto her finger. In return, along with the usual love and care and all that rot, she'd promised _"when the time comes, I will help you get rid of Voldemort"_.

And that's what made her nervous. She was absolutely certain today was the day; that Voldemort was about to be defeated … and she'd been left _here_ while Harry was _there_. Somehow, she couldn't help but feel he was secretly glad to have left her behind, no doubt thinking she was being kept safe. "The hairy git," she muttered.

Alright; perhaps annoyed was a better word for it.

By now she and Ron had assured that no one would be entering the castle through the Chamber of Secrets the only way they could – by utterly and completely destroying the sink with the entrance. Afterwards, they'd rescued a couple Hufflepuffs who'd tried to push their way through a blocked doorway and gotten tangled in some bubotuber vines that left the kids covered head to toe in large, painful boils. After dropping them at the Hospital Wing, they'd run into the Bloody Baron who'd informed them the professors where gathering in the Entry Hall.

That's where they were headed … until Ron decided he'd better use the facilities now, as it was very distracting to need to piss in the middle of a battle and how would she like to explain to Harry that the castle fell to dark forces for lack of a potty break? And that's why she was leaning against the wall outside the boy's loo, waiting for Ron and obsessing over Harry's well being. In fact, she was so obsessed she could practically hear him calling to her.

"Harry?" a surprised Ginny spoke into the mirror she pulled from her inner pocket.

"Hey Potter," Harry's image replied, using his pet name for her. "I just … before … I love you," he blurted out.

"So I've been told," she chuckled back. Maybe it was something in his eyes, but Ginny decided she needed to keep this light. "You called me in the middle of a battle to tell me that?"

"No, I called you during a lull," he quipped back. "If it was in the middle, you'd hear screaming and cursing and lots of loud booming noises."

Ginny smiled, glad to notice a bit of the tension had left his face. Over all, she didn't see much damage – his hair was a mess (but then, when wasn't it?), his glasses needed a good polishing, and there was a curious smudge of something pink near his right ear – but considering where he was she was actually pleased with his appearance.

"Is that Harry?" Ron shouted from behind her as he finally exited the facilities, but she waved him away as she continued to listen.

"So things are going well at Hogwarts, then," Harry asked her.

"Well enough," she offered back. "We've not seen much ourselves, but the Bloody Baron assured us the moat is holding back the giants, although one of the towers might've been damaged. Haven't heard of any casualties from that but when we stopped in the infirmary we heard about several students injured by intruders."

Ron popped his head over her shoulder to add, "One whole section's completely curtained off. Wonder if that's to hide the dead."

Ginny shifted the mirror away from Ron. "Don't listen to him, Harry. There aren't any dead."

"There could be dead," Ron insisted.

"No dead," Ginny equally insisted.

"There have to be some dead," her brother argued. "I killed that vampire, so that's at least one dead."

Turning to glare at her brother, she hissed, "there are NO DEAD, Ron." Then she returned to the mirror and smiled sweetly. "No dead, Harry. Everything's fine here."

Mirror Harry rolled his eyes. "Right … no dead … just un-undead. Got it."

Behind Ginny, Ron puffed out his chest, proud his friend had agreed with him, but Harry's image turned serious. "Listen, Gin. Before I go, I need to tell you—"

"That you can't wait to get back so you can ravish my body? I get that and wholeheartedly agree, but really, you shouldn't say such things when my brother's in hearing range."

With a sad looking smile, Harry shook his head. "No … that's not – I mean yes, that sounds brilliant, but that's not what I was going to say."

"Well whatever you were going to say can just wait until you get back."

Just as she finished speaking, a loud, scratchy voice filled the air. She couldn't make out the words, as she was too far away from any windows, but she didn't really need to hear them to know what was being said. After all, she'd already heard the announcement three times.

"What's that voice?" Harry asked.

Ginny intended to lie – she was already thinking up something along the lines of Filch looking for his cat – when Ron popped his head over her shoulder again.

"That'd be old man Nott, now wouldn't it? He's been calling for your surrender for hours now and sounds seriously cranked."

"Don't exaggerate, Ron," she snapped. "He's exaggerating, Harry," she said to the mirror. "He's only done it a few times."

"Bloody hell! Why didn't I realize he'd do something like that?"

"You can't think of everything," Ron cheerfully replied. "Kinda too bad you left, though, seeing how they think you're here and are threatening to—oopf!" Ron stepped away to rub his now-sore ribs.

"It's alright," Harry assured them. "I plan to make certain Voldemort knows I'm here soon enough and hopefully he'll call the rest of the Death Eaters here for help. I just hope the school stays safe until then. Look, Ginny … it's probably going to get very intense here very soon. I don't expect I'll get another change to talk to you before … well, before. And I just … you mean …"

"Harry, hurry up," a voice drifted through the mirror from somewhere behind Harry, who abruptly turned away for a second to mutter a reply that Ginny couldn't quite make out. Seconds later, the view jumbled around until it became Hermione's face looking at her (with Harry's hair and part of his ear just visible in the corner).

"Ginny, can I talk to Ron?"

"Now isn't the time, Hermione," mirror-Harry said. "We're in the middle of a battle, you know."

Ginny couldn't see what Hermione did in response, but based on his "oomph" and duck-and-step backward, she could just about imagine it. Unfortunately, a loud clatter not too far away from Ginny reminded her that Harry's lull wasn't her lull.

Another jumble of images told Ginny that Harry was taking the mirror back, and his determined face filling the surface soon confirmed it. "Be careful, right?"

"I always am," Ginny smiled back. "I better let you go."

Before they could close the connection, Hermione called from just out of sight, "it's called the Come and Go room for a reason." She might have said more. Ginny had no way of knowing, for her mirror's surface had switched to showing nothing more interesting than her own worried face.

Turning to her brother, she offered him an apologetic shrug as she put the mirror away.

"They'll be fine," he assured her; but neither quite believed it. "Come on, we've got some professors to help."

-0-

As Harry tucked the mirror back in its pocket he became aware of an argument brewing between Percy and the stray girl. Apparently, Percy was trying to convince her to leave the building whereas she was insisting she would feel safer with him than venturing out on her own.

"Be reasonable, Yasmine," Percy tried to argue.

"Cannot I stay with you? You're headed somewhere safe, are you not? I do not want to be alone," she explained in a panicked voice. "I heard some of them, laughing about hurting people, bragging about neutralizing some old dumb bore."

"Dumbledore. They have him," Harry realized aloud.

"Oh but Harry, he's still alive, he must be," Hermione tried to assure him.

"That's true enough," Percy agreed, "Death Eaters don't use big words like neutralize unless they have to. They're likely holding him somewhere reasonably secure but not obvious. Not the prisoner holding cells on Level 10, for example, especially since that's where they herded the bulk of the workers. They'd be too afraid he might find supporters in the crowd."

When no one responded, Percy cleared his throat. "I couldn't help but hear some of your conversation with my siblings, Harry. I assume you were getting an update on the situation at Hogwarts."

"Er ... yeah." He had no intention of admitting his true purpose. "They seem to be safe for now. Apparently, the older Nott is outside the castle demanding I surrender myself..." Harry trailed off toward the end as different scenarios began running through his mind.

"They think you're still at the school," Percy said, stating the obvious.

Turning his attention back to Percy, Harry nodded. "It's only a matter of time before they get tired of waiting for my surrender and outright attack. Maybe I —"

"We can't let fear dictate our actions, Harry," Hermione tried to reason. "Where we are – right here – it isn't a good position to start a fight. We need to plan this out—"

"We _need_ to get to the Minister," Percy interrupted, "and bring the Aurors back to retake the Ministry. That should get their attention focused here instead of Hogwarts. The quicker we move, the better chance the school has of avoiding an all-out attack."

Harry looked to Hermione, but his traitorous best friend had that apologetic look that said he wasn't going to like what she was about to say. "It makes sense to stick to Percy's plan, Harry. For the time being, at least," she placated. "There's still a chance we can help the Headmaster if we can find him, but even you have to admit having a squad of battle-ready Aurors show up can only be good for our side. If nothing else, they'll keep the Death Eaters busy."

"Yes," Yasmine, who had been quietly listening finally spoke up, "keeping these Death Eats busy is a good plan."

Hermione silently pleaded with Harry, who huffed before giving his head the slightest of nods.

"Right then," said Percy, "if the hall is clear …" – Hermione nodded – "then all we have to do is get to the portkey office. Follow me." Confident in his leadership role, Percy strode to the door, dismantled Hermione's spells, and stepped out. Yasmine, showing a remarkable amount of faith in someone she'd just met, jumped forward to grab the back of his robe with her hand and follow him out.

As Hermione moved to the door, Harry stopped her and shook his head. "This is never going to work. She didn't even ask for her wand back."

"We need those Aurors," she countered. "You can't fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters at the same time and I don't think I can handle all of them by myself. We'll get Percy to the portkey, get the Aurors here, then while they're taking down the worms we go after the snake. Now let's get moving before they get lost or captured." Not waiting for an answer, she dashed out the door to catch up.

"Or stop to snog," Harry grumbled as he, too, hustled down the hall. Hermione was just disappearing around a corner so he furtively checked for witnesses then followed. Two turns later he found himself in a hall so narrow they were forced to walk single file. It's deep red walls covered in black scorch marks gave it a caved-in feel while empty and twisted iron candleholders left the area dark and unwelcoming.

It was in this eerie place that Harry stumbled into Hermione, who along with Percy and Yasmine, had slowed considerably. He thought they'd slowed because of the dark atmosphere, but just as he opened his mouth to apologize, he heard it. Yelling; the loud yet indistinct voices of two, maybe three people. The sounds were coming across an open area ahead of them where three corridors intersected, from behind a set of flimsy swinging doors protecting what, according to the sign overhead, was the Malfunctioning Floo Repair Office.

Knowing only Death Eaters would be comfortable making such a ruckus, the four carefully made their way to the doors and peeked through their small windows. There was much to see in the rectangular room, which was cluttered with busy desks and work benches, wooden cabinets, and an odd assortment of freestanding fireplaces of all shapes and sized that had been brought in for repair. But to Harry it could have been bare of all but one thing.

It was one of those sights that never leaves your mind … like a too young, too pale Ginny lying before a colossal statue … like the blood running down Pettigrew's handless arm … like the smile frozen on Sirius' face … Albus Dumbledore was lying across the top of two shoddy wooden desks that had been shoved together. Someone had gone to great lengths to disrespect the man – his robes had been artfully draped over the edge in parody of a sleeping beauty's gown, his arms formed an 'X' over his chest like an old Hollywood vampire, and clutched in his right hand was a single red rose.

"His beard," Hermione gasped, and Harry knew exactly what had upset her. Albus' trademark facial hair, normally long enough to tuck into his belt, had been butchered. Uneven clumps of short whiskers were interspersed with nearly hairless patches of skin, giving him the appearance of a homeless nutter.

"Quiet," Percy hissed as he jabbed his finger toward the cluster of bickering men off to Albus' side. Acknowledging the danger, the others pulled back only to watch in awe as Percy did something very un-Percy-like. He withdrew a set of extendable ears from a pocket and handed one ear pod to Harry and Hermione to share as he dropped the listening end on the ground. As it snaked its way under a door Harry leaned his head close to catch the sounds.

"—so just stop with the gestures already, _Amy_," taunted a smooth masculine voice Harry didn't recognize. "What's that you say? Nothing? … Oh that's right, old man's got your tongue."

"That's enough, Jorkins," shot back a second man's voice. "Amycus can still rip your arms off, ya' know. He never did need a curse to do that."

Momentarily drowning out those voices, Percy whispered, "The first was Stamford Jorkins. High level Ministry Spokesperson – I never would have suspected. Don't know the second one, though."

"We do," Hermione replied. "Crabbe."

"What're you laughing at?" Jorkins bellowed loud enough to be heard without the Ear. There was a harsh thwumping sound followed instantly by a loud grunt.

"Take it easy, Carrow," Crabbe said. "He's no good to us dead."

"I don't see you doing anything to make him talk." Another _whump_, a louder grunt. "He's going to tell us where the Minister's hiding before things get messy, isn't that right, Lacer?"

That caught Harry's attention. "Lacer?" he mouthed. "The Unspeakable?" Hermione shrugged, as she'd never met Arthur Weasley's friend turned Order member Eddie Lacer. He risked another peek into the room, his eyes sweeping the entire area this time.

"Just those three Death Eaters," he told the others, "The hostage – I think it is the Unspeakable – is on the ground and appears injured. But … there's another person … it looks like Kingsley, Hermione. He's not moving."

"Shacklebolt?" Percy squeaked. "He was supposed to go with the Minister."

"He'd never hide from the fight," Harry countered. "But we can't worry about him now. We need to get into that room and save Lacer … and make sure Seba is only …"

"Right," Hermione agreed, ignoring Percy's attempt to say otherwise. "I'll take Jorkins. Harry, you get Carrow and Percy, you take out Crabbe. Yasmine, you wait in the dark hall. Remember, Carrow can't use the Unforgivables – they can't be done nonverbally, but that doesn't leave him defenseless, and the others still can. On three?"

Harry nodded, gripped his wand tightly and counted in his head … and together they burst through the doors and into the room, Harry immediately spinning to the left as he attacked. It only took seconds for the Death Eaters realize they were under attack and retaliate.

Harry's Percussum spell plowed into Carrow's chest with enough force to send him crashing through a chair and tumbling into the wall, where he stayed, clearly knocked out.

Something struck Percy in the shoulder, dropping him to the ground where he twitched every so often. Yasmine (Harry didn't waste time wondering why she followed them in) was crying over her fallen hero. He'd lost sight of Crabbe, but Hermione and Jorkins were trading spells.

Then things happened very quickly … Jorkins sent the Imperius Curse toward Hermione, who tripped as she dodged out of its way … Yasmine shrieked loudly as she dove toward Harry, possibly thinking he could protect her … Harry saw Jorkins rushing forward but couldn't react with his arms full of Yasmine … he shoved the girl to the ground and raised his wand but was too late … Jorkins had snatched Hermione's arm, twisting it up and around so that her wand fell from her hand. She cried out in pain as another jerk-and-twist pulled her body tight against her captor.

Harry couldn't get a clean spell and Jorkins, seeing his dilemma, laughed wildly and dug his wand into Hermione's back. Then a voice shouted "watch– " … but it came too late … intensely sharp pain exploded in, on, and through Harry's entire body. He didn't notice his knees giving out, didn't register he was on top of the unconscious Percy.

Seconds of unending pain ticked by. Harry didn't recognize Hermione's voice as she begged for Crabbe to stop; he didn't hear Jorkins comparing him to a dog that needed put down; he wasn't aware of Yasmine scuttling away from his convulsing body in horror. It is, therefore, understandable that he didn't notice Crabbe's earlier victim, Eddie the Unspeakable, throw a coffee mug at Crabbe's head.

All Harry knew was that the curse had ended and he was lying on his side across something lumpy, trying to catch his breath. Time had slowed … every heartbeat, every second, seemed to take forever. He heard a voice – the words didn't register – followed by a pained cry. Twisting his neck, he saw the Unspeakable grabbing a bloody shoulder.

And then time returned to normal. Harry flexed his fingers and was rewarded by the feel of his wand still in his hand, trapped between his stomach and Percy's. He tightened his hold as he rolled over, jabbing out his curse.

"Cruc—oww," screamed Crabbe as his right leg shattered. Unable to support his own weight, he toppled sideways, his wand snapping on impact.

Another cry from Hermione caught Harry's attention. "Do you like pain, Potter?" called Jorkins. "Which of you should I use it on, I wonder? Would it hurt you more if I give you another dose or if you have to watch as I give it to the little Mudblood?" Harry wished Hermione wasn't in the way so he could blast the creep.

"Don't mess with the boy … just get him," Crabbe yelled as he attempted to simultaneously soothe his damaged leg and force his splintered wand back together.

Harry, however, didn't plan on being gotten. "Wingardium Leviosa," he commanded, and every piece of loose parchment in the office – hundreds of orders and memos and reports in triplicate – rose from the desks and the floor and even from inside open drawers and began spinning around and around, faster and faster, as if in a cyclone.

By the time the parchments settled back down, Harry was nowhere to be seen.

"Where'd he go?" Crabbe bellowed as his eyes wildly searched the room.

"Mudblood?" Jorkins questioned, moving his wand to her throat.

"I … I don't know," Hermione insisted. "He … he can make himself invisible," she improvised. "He could be anywhere … by the doors … the wall … even behind you."

Crabbe pulled himself backward toward a corner, his fractured wand gingerly held together in his hand. Jorkins tightened his grip on Hermione's arm as he began turning around in a slow, deliberate fashion, pulling Hermione along for the ride.

A high-pitched mewling drew everyone's attention to Carrow, who was finally coherent enough to reenter the fight. He was pushing himself to his knees very near where the injured Unspeakable was himself propped against a desk. In a scene reminiscent of a children's cartoon, both men spotted Hermione's lost wand at the same moment … and they both lunged for it.

Their sudden movement startled Yasmine, who started screeching again.

Carrow won the race; his hand flicked the wand violently at Lacer, who grabbed his side as his skin burst open. The wand must not have liked Carrow, for the wound was neither long nor deep, but to the already injured Unspeakable it was the curse that broke the hippogriff's wing. He slumped sideways, softly groaning in pain.

From his hiding place Harry sent a silent numbing spell toward the man then went back to his waiting game. He still didn't have a clean shot at Jorkins, whose constant moving kept putting Hermione in his spell path, nor at Crabbe and Carrow, who were blocked by furniture, but he knew if he was patient he'd get clean spells.

Hermione was wiggling to get away from her captor, clearly wanting to help the injured Unspeakable, but Jorkins took great delight in yanking her back against him.

Carrow was finally back on his feet. He scanned the area quickly and with a nasty grin, jabbed Hermione's wand toward a far desk and grunted. The desk began doing a strange jig, its four legs skipping sideways to reveal the rest of the dark robe on the ground behind it. An empty robe that did not, everyone could now see, belong to Harry.

The dancing desk bumped into another desk with a loud_ thud_, causing Carrow to step forward and curse it as if it was Harry.

His actions unknowingly put him in Harry's line of sight.

As Carrow cursed the innocent furniture, Hermione took advantage of the distraction. She bent and lifted her right knee and kicked back with all her strength. With a sickening _pop_ Jorkins' kneecap shifted sideways. Overcome with pain, he reflexively loosened his hold, allowing Hermione to twist away from him.

Carrow turned to look their way just as his robes burst into intense flames. With a sound halfway between a chirp and a snort, he ripped his robes off, losing Hermione's wand in his haste. He tossed the robes onto the floor and began stomping on them to put out the flames, which were threatening to climb his legs.

Hermione, meanwhile, had managed to get her hand on the dagger Harry had given her, freeing it from her pocket and thrusting it toward Jorkins. With only a split second to react, the Death Eater deflected the blade with his hand, dropping his wand in the process. The short blade sliced open his arm. Enraged, he turned his attention toward gaining control of the weapon.

As Carrow managed to extinguish the last of the flames, Harry hissed the word _'Tysonius'_. His spell flew from his hiding place inside one of the broken fireplaces and slammed into Carrow's chest. The Death Eater was tossed to the ground, out cold for at least the next half hour.

Jorkins didn't notice. He was kicking and scratching and generally fighting like a Muggle girl to keep the dagger from doing serious damage. Hermione, who wasn't all that familiar with such a weapon, was nonetheless landing some impressive hits, though none to vital areas.

"Stop," Crabbe commanded, although it came out more as a question, and it didn't have any effect. Clearing his throat, he seemed to come to a decision. Sitting tall, he held his pieced-together wand with both hands and pointed it directly at the still-on-the-ground Percy. "Surrender or he dies. I mean it!"

In response, Harry sent a blasting hex at Crabbe, hitting him in the shoulder. But being built like an ox, or maybe because his brain worked slower than most … he managed to keep hold on his wand long enough to scream, "Avada Kedavra!" … but as he screamed a petite body slammed into his, pushing him sideways and sending the spell off-course.

Hermione instinctively spun around, pulling her tagalong with her so that Jorkins was between herself and the spell. Seconds after impact, she let his lifeless body fall to the ground as she quickly snatched her wand from the ground next to Carrow.

She stunned and bound Crabbe while Yasmine knelt next to Percy, gently shaking him. Harry climbed out of the broken fireplace and rushed to the bleeding and moaning Unspeakable, who in spite of his pain smiled as the teen approached.

"Impressive," he managed to say between groans as Harry helped him sit up. With a careful hand, Harry removed the man's tattered robes to get a better look at his injuries.

"It wasn't a Killing Curse," Eddie called out, causing Harry to look back and see Hermione approaching Albus. "It was a potion – but I'm not—"

"We know the potion," Hermione interrupted. "He should be fine eventually," she confidently told them as she gave Albus' warm hand a gentle squeeze.

Nodding, Eddie motioned toward Kingsley. "Got him with the Cruciatus and held it a damn long time when he wouldn't tell them how to find the Minister. Then stunned 'em when he kept moaning." Seeing the horrified look on Hermione's face, he shook his head. "I honestly don't know … only time will tell. I suggest you not revive him; best to let the healers sort him out."

"And you?" Harry questioned.

"I only got it for a bit, rather like yourself … and they did a number to my leg, but now it just throbs. Honestly, the shoulder worries me more than anything."

The leg in question, Harry noticed, bore an uncanny resemblance to one of Fluffy's chew toys. He didn't know anything that would help and regretted again that their first aid supplies had been left with Ginny at the castle.

"Let me," Hermione said, motioning for Harry to move aside. She was able to stop the bleeding and bind the wound, then turned to study the shattered shoulder.

Eddie, perhaps not wanting to watch her, turned back to Harry. "You did well, Harry. Kept your wits, didn't give up. Thank you – and you, Miss Granger, right? – I think I owe you my life."

"No thanks needed, it's just what we do," Harry said, shrugging off the gratitude.

"Well, I thank you anyway – mmhhh, damn that hurts – listen, Harry, the Unspeakables have been aware of you for some time now. Granted, we don't know the wording of your little prophecy, but I think I can guess it pretty well. But you know it, I'd wager. The fact that you still continue to fight instead of running away tells me all I need to know. Albus has great faith in you … and for good reason." Meeting Harry's eyes, he quietly added, "you _do_ have a power, Harry Potter. Use it."

Hermione sucked in her breath at his wording, but Harry could only nod in response. Off to the side, Percy, who was listening intently, looked as if he'd both had a life-changing epiphany and eaten some bad fish. It was not a good look for him. Standing, he said with uncharacteristic uncertainty, "We've done what we can here. I think we need to get moving." He was still lightly trembling every once in a while, but seemed otherwise well enough.

"NO," Harry began, but Hermione put a comforting hand on his arm.

"I've done what I can for him, but there's nothing we can do for _him_," she paused to jerk her head toward Albus. "Percy's right, we still have work to do."

"I am capable of putting together the pieces, you know," the Weasley brother huffed as he straightened his glasses. "Clearly, even the Unspeakables think it's going to be down to you. I still don't agree, but I realize that I'm the minority opinion. To argue would be a waste of time, which we're running short on. Yasmine and I have decided we'll get to the Minister while you two do … whatever it is you've been planning all along to do."

Harry didn't know how to respond to a reasonable Percy.

"Your best bet," Eddie said, taking over the conversation, "is to get to the Broom Regulatory Control office. Find the filing cabinet labeled Unidentified Flying Objects and tap the top drawer with your wand to reveal a staircase to the Department of Mysteries. I trust you can figure it out from there?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "As soon as we get there, I'll get Voldemort's attention and lead him there. Not exactly sure how yet, but I'll figure it out when the time comes. I usually do."

Hermione soundlessly chuckled as she nodded in agreement.

A plan of action in place, everyone wished each other good luck as they mentally prepared for their parts. Harry moved to the doors to spell them against the Dark Mark, giving Eddie and the others extra protection. Percy met him there and offered his hand, which Harry gladly shook. It wasn't his Weasley of choice, but he felt better having one involved in the plan.

Not one to waste time, Percy grabbed Yasmine's hand and pulled her along as he pushed his way through the doors, Harry and Hermione close behind them.

There was maybe a split-second when the four leaving the office froze, staring at the pair they found in the hall. Selwyn, the Death Eater Rosmerta had kicked to submission at Abe's funeral, was the first to react. His curse hit Percy dead center in the chest, causing the red head to stumble into the person behind him – and reflexively catching him cost Hermione the ability to respond.

With a hard shove, Harry pushed Yasmine into the other person (a no-longer-innocent Stan Shunpike, his mind registered) then sent a muscle knotting curse at Selwyn. The spell impacted just as Hermione's freezing charm also took hold, effectively taking the Death Eater out of the fight.

Yasmine and Shunpike fell into a wall. Unfortunately, he wasn't as incompetent as Harry assumed. Shunpike swished his wand in an 'S' pattern as he barked out "signum". Instantly, an annoying, deeply vibrating twittering – sounding much like the call of the cockatrice – filled the building.

Not willing to underestimate him again, Harry turned to Shunpike. "Impedimenta, Impedimenta, Impedimenta," he shouted, hitting his opponent squarely in the chest each time. Shunpike paused at the first curse, twitched at the second, and collapsed to the ground at the third.

A hand pushing his arm down tore Harry's attention away from the unmoving Shunpike. Blinking, he registered Hermione had somehow silenced the alarm.

"Let's get him back in the room," she ordered, motioning to a gurgling Percy. As Harry handled Percy, Hermione tossed a quick Notice-Me-Not charm around Shunpike and the glaring Selwyn. "Won't hold for long, but will hopefully buy us some time," she told him as she grabbed Yasmine and followed Harry back into the floo office.

Unspeakable Eddie was so surprised by their return he nearly cursed before recognizing them. Harry explained what had happened while Hermione checked Percy over. She was able to reverse the Drowning Hex, causing water to gush all over the floor, but he needed proper medical treatment to fully recover and he certainly wasn't going anywhere.

"But who will get the Minister? Who will save us?" Yasmine worried as she cradled Percy's head on her lap.

"Hermione will," Harry calmly replied. When his friend looked like she was going argue, he continued, "you agreed we need those Aurors, 'Mione. There isn't anyone else that can go and we're out of time besides. Now that they've been alerted, it won't take 'em long to find our trail of broken Death Eaters, which means it won't be long before Tom knows I'm here." With a cheeky grin he added, "I can make it to the Department of Mysteries without you – I've been there before, you know."

Hermione looked like she desperately wanted to argue but couldn't. "When Ron got separated from us," she said, swallowing thickly, "I think I knew that eventually we'd get separated, too. That you would go that last step alone. I hoped and prayed I was wrong … but in my gut I knew I wasn't." She fought to stop the tears, but they fell anyway. "I feel like I'm back at the beginning, just a scared twelve-year-old forced to watch helplessly as you go on by yourself."

She wiped the tears aside with a nervous laugh. "You really are an incredible wizard, Harry. Don't ever forget that." She threw herself into his arms for a fierce hug, which he returned with equal vigor.

A voice interrupted their moment. "If you're ready to go, Miss Granger, the Portkey Office is straight down the far left hall. You're looking for a wooden plank salvaged from the first goblin tribunal. Can't miss it; it's hanging on the wall and says 'first goblin tribunal' in big red letters right on it. Tap it with your wand and say 'safe room'. Then as soon as you touch it, it will take you there."

As she nodded her understanding, a nondescript man's voice echoed through the halls. "Intruders confirmed in the Atrium. Everyone be on the lookout. Subdue and apprehend on sight. DO NOT KILL."

"Time to go," Hermione softly said. "Good luck, Harry."

He wished her the same and moved to the doors, this time remembering to check the hall. As they headed out – she to go left and he forward – she stopped a moment. "And Harry … you'd better not get yourself killed. There's a Weasley that won't take kindly to that."

"Funny, I was going to tell you the same thing."

With one last smile, she turned and began her trip down the hall. He watched for only a moment before turning toward the Broom Regulatory Control office. His trip was uneventful, but he figured the Death Eaters were probably concentrating their search near the Atrium. In no time he was standing outside the office door, wondering if he was insane to be going alone. But he was out of allies and would soon be out of time. Reaching out, he grasped the doorknob.

'_Department of Mysteries, here I come.'_

There was only one older wizard in the office, and this time he didn't hesitate. Taking the man by surprise he had him disarmed, stunned, and stuffed in a utility closet in no time.

The UFO filing cabinet was easily found and it opened just as Eddie had said it would. His luck with staircases held: it was narrow – barely wide enough for his slim frame – and what little he could see twisted back and forth for no apparent reason and had no noticeable support system. He couldn't see any walls, a ceiling above, nor a floor below. Silently praying for luck, he put his foot on the first tread. The entire staircase shifted under his weight, so he thrust his free hand out to grasp the railing for support, only to have it crumble in his hand.

He seriously considered the odds of finding another route down when the door behind him snapped shut, plunging him in darkness. With only the dim light from his wand, he carefully continued on. Every footfall caused the stairs to sway, making him fear he would plunge into the abyss below, but eventually he could see the last tread and a door just beyond it.

He was steps from reaching it when the feeling hit, so overpowering he let himself slip down until he was sitting on a dusty tread. Tom was excited … he knew it was Harry that attacked the guard … he would gather his forces and leave immediately … he couldn't wait to find Harry and finish him once and for all. Harry let out a demented cackle as Voldemort's delight and vigor flooded his system.

The feeling faded, though Harry knew it was only because Tom got himself under control, leaving Harry slightly giddy. It was not a comfortable feeling but at least he knew - _he knew_ – the time had come to end this. Knowing Tom was on his way, he pulled out Snape's super pain potion and downed it. Within seconds the pain in his head disappeared and he closed his eyes, relishing _not _feeling anything in his scar. Curiously, he noticed a sore, tingly sensation in his elbow left over from one of the earlier fights. He hadn't even noticed hurting it – apparently he'd grown too accustomed to pain.

Shaking off that thought, he stood and moved to the smooth metal door before him. Intuition told him it was fruitless, but he tried a spell anyway to check for people outside and as expected, it failed. Taking a deep breath, he pushed on the door, which soundlessly swung open to reveal the corridor he'd often dreamt of. Stepping out, he noted it was as long, as dark, and as foreboding as he remembered, which strangely comforted him.

As he let go of the door it gently closed, melting back into the bare wall as if it had never been there. Realizing he was openly exposed with no escape route, he sprinted down the corridor toward the plain black door that guarded his destination. Just as he passed the side opening that led to Level Ten, the face of Hades Yaxley appeared at the top of those stairs.

Luckily, Harry spotted him a split-second before he himself was spotted. He dropped to a crouch and sent a stunner which was easily rebuffed, even as Yaxley's Cruciatus whizzed over his head. Taking advantage of his proximity to the floor, Harry touched the top stair tread with his wand and transformed the stairs into a chute.

But Yaxley had already used a strong wind charm to propel himself into the corridor, landing just behind Harry, who had to flatten himself to the ground to keep from being blown over.

Thinking fast, Harry jabbed his wand sharply toward Yaxley's left foot while screaming _'Evanesco'_ in his head. The spell wasn't perfect; only the front third of Yaxley's foot – boot, sock, skin and all – vanished, giving Harry a perfect (if somewhat disgusting) view of a cross-section of the human foot. The Death Eater remained oddly silent, but the remains of his foot wiggled. _'Huh'_, Harry thought just before the large body lost its balance and began to fall forward.

Yaxley had enough time for one spell … instead of something that might keep him from colliding with the ground, he chose a dark cutting curse aimed directly at Harry's forehead. Harry wiggled to the left … the spell hit the floor, sending tiny shards of marble into the air … most went up, hitting Yaxley's face as it rushed down, but one large piece brushed across Harry's jaw, leaving a jagged cut that, thanks to Snape's potion, he didn't notice.

As Yaxley hit the hard concrete floor face-first, Harry sprung to his knees and jabbed his wand onto the man's back. "_Spina durum_" he cried, using one of the morally ambiguous spells Snape had taught him, and with a loud crunching noise, Yaxley's upper body snapped straight as his spine was fused into one solid bone.

Ignoring the muffled grunts coming from Yaxley (whose likely broken nose was still smashed on the ground) Harry snatched up the man's wand and headed for the unwelcoming black door. He turned back just before opening the door and goaded the man, "be sure to tell your Master where I went."

**** end chapter ****

**Notes:** I think the word 'floo' is flexible, sometimes it means the actual fireplace, other times it means the network itself. And for some reason, I can see a wizard pulling out his fireplace and taking the whole thing somewhere for repairs, much like we would take our car somewhere. Magic makes being lazy make sense.

Reminders for original spells:

Percussum – Latin for 'to strike hard'; it's a spell that feels like you're being punched by a fist. Think magical fist fight.

Tysonius – aka The Tyson Obdomio spell. Knocks opponents out for 30 minutes, then leaves them confused for several hours.

Signum – to signal. Triggers a preset alarm spell.

Spina durum – toyed with the Latin words for 'solidify the spine'. Fuses an enemy's spine into one solid, unbendable bone. Because, really, who would use that on a friend?


	44. The Riddle Solved

I was just thinking how funny it would be if someone actually got to this point of the story and still thought I owned the characters from the Harry Potter series. Ha.

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**Chapter 44. The Riddle Solved**

Harry was about to push open the door hiding the Department of Mysteries when a ghostly silver otter sprang toward him. It stopped a few feet away, bobbing its head playfully, as Hermione's voice announced, "Found Minister Bluestreak. It was surprisingly easy once you were gone. Reinforcements are on their way. Bluestreak says to wait for them," – this was followed by a muffled snort – "Be careful."

With a wave of Harry's wand, the otter faded away. It would be easy, he thought, to wait for help_. 'But since when does Harry Potter choose what's easy?'_

With one last glance behind him, he went through the black door. The room inside was just as he remembered it, a round space surrounded by plain black doors, with one exception. During his previous trip, he'd have sworn the candles in the room were burning blue, accentuating the watery feel of the room created by the finely polished floor. Today, however, they burned an angry yellowish-orange which reflected off the shiny surfaces, making it feel as if he'd walked into the heart of a fire. Whether the change was due to the time of day (the Ministry was technically open right now, after all) or the room somehow knew the building was under siege, Harry couldn't guess.

Either way, he was faced with the same dilemma: where to go from here. Dropping his hand from the door he'd entered, he heard it shut with a quiet click and the wall began its rapid revolutions. Bowing his head to keep from getting dizzy, he felt something wet drip onto his hand. It was a bright, bloody red. Reaching up, he felt his face and found a mushy strip running along his jaw.

Rubbing the blood between his fingers, he realized two important things. First, Yaxley had managed to get him after all. And second, Snape's potion really did block all pain above his shoulders. He'd have to take care that he didn't miss any future injuries to his head or neck, as such an oversight could prove fatal. He aimed his wand as best he could and applied a standard healing charm.

By the time he finished, the twelve doors had come to a stop. He rotated slowly in place, wondering where he should head. The Death Chamber seemed fitting, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd be tempting fate if he went there again. He still recalled those whispery voices and the feeling of being drawn to the veil. Prophecy and Death were mysteries best kept separate, he decided.

The room with Ron's flying brains had possibilities (as long as one didn't use a summoning spell) as did the Time room. He refused to consider the Hall of Prophecy. But then his eyes fell on one particular door, different from all the others in that a section of the door and its corresponding frame were covered in minute scratches. _'The Locked Door.'_ The one that led to the room that was, according to Albus, "full of a force more wonderful and more terrible than death … the most mysterious of the subjects" that reside here.

The room was full of love; full of the thing that was supposed to be his greatest power, the thing that he had which Voldemort did not. Standing there, looking at this simple door behind which he'd find Love, Harry couldn't help but think of his loved ones, past and present … and he _knew_. This was what Trelawney had meant when she spoke of finding what he'd lost. His lost loved ones.

Certain he was right … certain he would open that door and find his Mum and Dad … and Sirius and Uncle Abe … maybe even Remus or Fleur Weasley … he stepped close and inspected the door. Fingers trembling, he reached inside his robes and pulled free the mokeskin bag that he always wore, and removed the skeleton key he'd received as a birthday present from Unspeakable Eddie.

Swallowing down the urge to laugh, he held the key close to the door and a simple iron lock appeared on its surface. When he gently pushed the key in it practically turned itself and the door swung inward as if inviting him to enter.

The space (for there was no way this was a simple room) before him was amazing; it was inspiring; it was warm and welcoming and felt like home. Looking into it was like looking across the clouds. A light, airy mist hovered in the endless space – thin enough to still see through nearest to Harry but growing thicker in the distance. Streams of bright light from unseen sources were breaking through in scattered places, reminding him of images he'd seen as a child depicting heaven.

He half expected to find giant-sized golden gates as he stepped in to peer all around, trying his best to see through the bright haze. But aside from the mist, the room was utterly void of objects. Harry assumed there were walls somewhere in the distance, but even those couldn't be seen. Slowly turning around, he was strangely disappointed to find himself alone. He'd honestly expected to find people here. He'd been absolutely certain, when he'd recognized the door, that what he'd lost – that the family he'd lost – would be here. That somehow, all those horrific losses were made bearable because, right here and right now, they would be reunited.

But no ghostly images appeared. No shadowed figures emerged from the mist. Finishing his circle (for thankfully he could still see the door, now closed, despite it already being partially hidden by the mist), reality set in; he was as alone now as he always was.

… _haven't we told you before, son … you're never alone_ …

The words came like a whisper in his mind … like a memory that refused to be forgotten … like Fawkes' melody warming from within. He didn't hear the words; he felt them. But he knew, beyond any doubt whatsoever, it was his father speaking.

… _we're always close by, always watching you …_

Closing his eyes, Harry could picture his father standing beside him as he spoke, perhaps with a comforting arm across his shoulders.

… _my handsome man … we're so proud of you, every day you make us so proud just by being you_ …

Harry squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, trying to hold the wetness back as he listened to his mum.

… _do the Skipper proud, little buddy, and Mum says to tell you hello …_

Uncle Abe. Harry cracked a smile. He shouldn't have doubted that old codger would be here, too. He was family, after all.

… _your parents and I aren't ready to have you back, so finish up and get back to that lovely little lady of yours …_

Sirius. How he wished he'd made better use of their time together.

… _call him, Harry_ … his dad again … _bring him here … we can't do anything against him, but we can be here for you _…  
… _call him, Harry_ … Sirius echoed … _but don't let any others in … he shares your blood … show him how stupid he was to do that _…

Harry felt himself nodding and smiling as Sirius' last words faded in his mind. Opening his eyes, he searched out the doorway. It was still visible, appearing strangely unsupported in the mist, no walls visible anywhere … he wondering what would happen if he walked around the door … would he be stuck here forever? … it wouldn't be such a bad thing, to be lost in love for all time.

… _focus, son … _

"Yes, Dad," he responded aloud, a smile in his voice.

Stepping close to the door, he studied its plain brown wood, so out of place in this other-worldly atmosphere, careful not to reach around the frame into the surrounding void. He knew it was already near impossible to open from the outside, but Harry couldn't afford to underestimate the dark magic Death Eaters might know and use. Keep others out, Sirius had warned. Well, he knew Snape's spell to keep those with the Dark Mark from passing – even understood the theory behind the spell … it could be combined with a simple locking charm that was blood activated – a trick he'd picked up from Voldemort's inferi-infested cave … but only his blood … keeping all but one other from the room.

A simple cutting spell brought blood to the surface of his left palm, then, as he incanted the spells, he placed his bleeding hand on the wooden frame, running it up and down to smear the blood before moving to the other side and repeating the steps. Backing away, he watched the blood slowly sink into the wood until not a single drop of red remained. There were no other signs his spells had worked.

He healed his palm and took one last look across the peaceful mist. Moving to where he felt the middle of the room should be, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He'd done this once before, deliberately reaching into his enemy's mind, but it had been more than a year ago and under the watchful eye of Seba. Pushing away his worries, he searched his mind for any feelings that didn't belong.

It was far easier than he remembered it being, possibly because Tom was practically giddy in his near-victory. Grabbing hold, he followed it to its source, knowing he'd succeeded when he felt like he'd dived head-first into a pool of thick, putrid mud.

Careful not to lose the path home, he screamed at the top of his lungs, "I'M HERE!" The very second he felt another's awareness rise up, he rushed back to himself and concentrated on every single person and every single thing he loved, from Ginny and his parents to Quidditch and Molly Weasley's treacle tart. He could feel Voldemort trying to storm his way into his mind – a strange sense of pushing and pummeling but without any pain – but as before, Harry's strong emotions overwhelmed the invader, who quickly retreated.

And Harry immediately fell to his knees, fighting to stay true to himself as he was bombarded with a terrible rage, the suddenly conflicting emotions inside him almost too much to bare. He swallowed thickly and concentrated on slowing his breathing while repeating to himself that it was a good thing that Tom knew exactly where to find him.

Had anyone been in the room with him, they would have seen a strange brightness flash in Harry's eyes as that thought – that Tom was coming – settled across his mind. A sense of peaceful determination took hold and he confidently stood. He positioned himself several yards across from, and to the left of, the door and waited, his wand at the ready. _He_ was ready.

It could have taken five minutes or 50 – there was a feeling of timelessness in this place – but eventually the door flew open, hitting its own frame and bouncing partially closed. In the shadowed opening stood the dark lord himself. He was dressed in his usual over-flowing robes of darkest black, and his intense red eyes, when combined with the red-tinted room behind, brought images of Hell vividly to mind.

Tom was healing a cut on his hand as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Blood magic, Harry Potter?" he casually asked. "What would your dear Headmaster say if he knew you dabbled is such dark arts?" To Harry, who'd heard the demon speak many times, the man's anger at having to use his own blood to open the door was evident.

Biting back his own anger, Harry silently took a few steps back and swept his left arm wide, as if to invite his guest into the room.

Ignoring the gesture, Voldemort hissed something to his snake, who slithered toward the room. It stopped just short of the door, lifting its head high and testing the air with its tongue.

=It tastes of you,= the snake told its master.

As the snake continued its inspection of the door, Harry took a moment to study Tom's accomplices. There were four; a surprisingly small number given Tom's love of playing to an audience. One he recognized as Avery, a regular pain in his side, and beside him stood Greyback the werewolf. On the other side of Avery was a fellow vaguely familiar from one of the shops in Diagon Alley. The last man was unknown; a handsome man whose entire look, from his perfectly-styled hair to his neatly-shined shoes, screamed 'I'm better than you in every possible way'.

It was this one who stepped forward (without even waiting for the command – rather a gutsy move, Harry thought) and shouted, "Accio Potter."

Harry easily rebuffed the spell, which returned with enough force to knock the man several feet back.

Glaring at his foolish follower, Tom commanded, "Avery. Get the boy."

"Yes, my Lord," he replied as he strode toward Harry. But as he attempted to step over the threshold, a bright pink flash threw him backward, where he landed on Voldemort's snake, Vespa, who turned and snapped at the fallen man before slithering away.

Tom, however, turned to re-examine the doorway. "Clever," he finally conceded. "Our dear Severus' contribution, I presume? He always was a most resourceful little wizard. No matter." Then he turned his attention behind him. "Greyback, you have no Mark. Redeem your worthless hide and retrieve my prize."

The human wolf eagerly stepped forward, snarling at Harry as he prowled toward the doorway, and Harry realized his mistake – he'd forgotten some followers weren't worthy of having the Dark Mark – and now Tom was going to exploit that flaw.

Greyback continued forward, ignoring the gnarled wand handle sticking out of his pocket, choosing instead to come for Harry using just his bare hands with their thick, claw-like nails.

Harry, however, had no intention fighting the man – he was saving all his energy for Tom. Before any could discern his intention, he flicked his wand toward the giant snake and spit out "alarte ascendare," proving he'd learned _something_ from Lockhart's dueling club. As the snake flew into the air he followed up with a little boost of wind so that when the snake fell, it landed squarely across the woflman's shoulders.

The terrified snake instantly began constricting its muscles, unwittingly squeezing Greyback, whose own animal instincts came to the surface as he dug his claws into the snake's muscles to pull if off. The fight was quick and vicious and ended with Greyback howling in pain and the snake dead. Voldemort cursed in outrage as its mangled carcass fell to the ground.

Pleased to have so clearly unnerved his enemy, Harry stepped a bit closer to the doorway, forcing himself to lower his wand so as to look unconcerned. With as much bravado as he could muster, he called out, "So afraid to face one teenage boy on your own, Tom?"

"Lord Voldemort fears none," Tom boasted, and then, as if to prove his claim, he turned to his followers and told them, "I will fetch the insolent child myself. Others will arrive soon in hope of defending him. You will deal with them; I care not how."

A shiver ran up Harry's spine, knowing Hermione wasn't any more likely to stay put then he had been. But he couldn't dwell on the thought, for Voldemort was gliding toward him. As his enemy neared the doorway Harry quickly backtracked across the space (and unintentionally into the denser mist), his wand now held a bit more defensively.

And then Tom entered and the door slammed shut of its own accord and, unnoticed by either, was slowly enveloped in the mist.

Tom paused for only a moment, taking in his surroundings. "Hiding like a frightened child, Harry?" he chided, mocking Harry's earlier taunt as he began to move in a circular pattern, slowly forcing Harry to turn his back to the almost-gone door. "And here I thought you were ready to stop playing childish games and face your destiny like a man."

"I think I'm facing my destiny just fine, old man," Harry confidently replied.

"Age has no meaning to me," Tom scoffed. "What are mere years to one who—"

"Can we skip the part where you tell me how great you are?" Harry interrupted. "I confess it was somewhat impressive when I was eleven, but I've grown up a bit since then."

"You dare to mock me?" Voldemort screeched, finally aiming his wand in Harry's direction. Before he was even done speaking a nasty jet of purple was flying Harry's way.

With an easy swish of his wand, Harry deflected the curse. "I'm not afraid of you anymore," he said as he began moving opposite Voldemort so that they maintained the same amount of space between them. "Not really. A friend explained how it's hard to fear someone once you've seen them naked," … he paused for a second as felt Sirius' amused chuckles … " and she's right. I know what you hide under that robe, and if that's the price of immortality, I'd imagine you'd have to be really messed in the head to pay it."

Two more curses came at him but Harry easily dodged the first and rebounded the second. He raised his wand, ready to send his own curse …

… _not yet_ … Lily cautioned.  
… _he needs to understand so he can choose_ … Remus added. He'd still been hoping the man couldn't be here.

Voldemort, noticing Harry's posture – the way he tipped his head, the off-sides look in his eyes – shouted, "What are you doing, boy? What do you hear?"

Harry's attention returned fully to his enemy. With a soft smile, he asked, "Can you feel them?" To his own ears, Harry's voice sounded suspiciously like Luna's.

"Feel what," Voldemort snidely huffed. "This room is full of nothing but dead air and thick smoke. Darkness and shadows cannot scare me – I am Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard alive!"

Harry smiled indulgently at the man across from him, unknowingly looking remarkably like Tom's former Professor. "You are Tom Riddle. And Tom Riddle, despite everything he has tried, is still human. Surely there is someone that loved you, even just a bit, that's here for you now?"

If it was possible, the feelings of home and safety intensified to the point where Harry almost had trouble focusing on the task at hand. Luckily, Tom didn't notice, caught up as he was in his own disdain for such an emotion.

"Love," he spit the word, "is a useless sentiment felt by weak fools. Your Headmaster loved you, Harry Potter, and I do believe you've seen for yourself where it got him. Consider it a small glimpse into your own future." To emphasis his point he sent another curse Harry's way, and Harry was forced to drop and roll to avoid being hit.

"He would gladly die for me," Harry insisted as he climbed back to his feet. The mist along the edges of the room – if it even had edges – seemed to grow thicker as they debated love so that, although the distance between them hadn't really changed, it was getting harder for Harry to see his foe clearly.

"As so many have before him," Tom cruelly pointed out. He was glancing around as he said this, as if he, too, couldn't see well.

"There's no greater love than to give up your life for another," Harry argued back, for the first time truly understanding – truly believing the old saying.

… _that's right, sweetheart, we love you that much_ …

"Even Bellatrix isn't here for you. But then, hers wasn't a real, unconditional love, was it?"

"Come out from the smoke and face me," Tom screeched, randomly sending the Cruciatus around the area.

Thankfully, none of the spells went anywhere near Harry, who began moving as he continued his taunts so that his voice wouldn't give away his location. "But I would have thought at least your mum would be here. Could not even she love you? How sad."

"Your mother's love for you brought her death, Potter," Tom hissed before sending another curse at a shadow.

"It was her sacrifice – her love that saved me," Harry heatedly replied, "you know it. You told me so yourself. Old magic, you called it, because you gave her a choice. And I used to wonder … why would you do that? No, don't bother to answer, 'cause I already know. Snape asked you to so you did – not to be nice, surely … maybe so you would have that to hold over him?"

"You prove my point, Potter. Had I not miscalculated – had she done as I told her and stepped aside – Severus' love for your mother would have bound him to me for the rest of his pathetic life."

Tired of his game, Harry stepped forward so he and Tom could again see each other clearly. "And instead his love for her made him our greatest ally. See, you do understand love. Dumbledore told me once you didn't, but I think he was wrong. You understand just fine, you just refuse to let yourself feel it."

The murderous look on Tom's snake-like face made Harry rather glad he couldn't feel his scar. Knowing he was getting to the man, he pressed his point.

"Your mother loved you just like my mother loved me. You may not think so I but know she did. She didn't have to have you, you know. She'd already given up on her life, but she held on long enough for you to be born. She even gave you your name. It might not have been much – she might not have been capable of much – but is _was_ love. All you have to do is accept her love and she'd be here for you right now. And the smoke and the darkness, they would disappear."

"And all will be forgiven and we can be life-long friends, I suppose? I need neither love nor the fools who claim to feel it," Tom scoffed.

Harry ignored the sarcasm and rhetoric. "You can't imagine how wonderful love feels – its warm and comfortable and so much more powerful than magic."

"There is nothing mightier than magic – _sectumsempra_!"

Harry dropped low and once again rolled into the mist.

… _he won't open his heart, Harry …_  
… _knew he wouldn't – but you had to try, kiddo …_  
… _that's the nature of those who love, after all_ …

Brushing himself off, Harry stood and searched the mist for his enemy. He'd given Tom Riddle his chance to save his soul, now it was time to finish this. He just needed to find the bastard. "You believe that, don't you? That magic is the most powerful thing in this world. That's why you've put your faith in your Horcruxes. So confident they will keep you alive, are you, that you have no fear of what you will face in the afterlife?"

"I cannot die," Tom boasted, but his voice gave his location away.

"You couldn't die," Harry corrected, suddenly appearing from the left with his wand aimed directly at Tom's heart. "Now you can."

Tom stared into Harry's eyes, searching for the truth in his words, causing a strange shuffling sensation in the teen's brain. Had he not taken Snape's potion, Harry had no doubt he'd be on his knees begging for mercy by now. As it was, he merely shrugged as he told the man what he was looking for.

"You thought you were so smart. Who would ever guess you had not one but seven horcruxes? You know who – Albus Dumbledore. The diary, the ring, the locket and tiara … we destroyed those. But the award – my school award – we never did find it, and Merlin only knows what the Lestranges did with Hufflepuff's cup. But we found this ritual … funny enough, it was created by your own ancestor, Salazar Slytherin … he hated the very idea of a horcrux, so he made a ritual to circumvent the magic of the horcrux by tying all your soul shards back together. And here's the best part, Tom. Once it's done, you only have to destroy one of the pieces to destroy them all."

"But you do not know where the last pieces are," Tom asserted.

"I know where you are."

Tom didn't answer. Instead he jabbed his wand violently to the left and in a flash a ghostly dragon appeared, its mighty, soundless roar vibrating across the room. It flapped its wings as it prowled toward its prey.

… _stand firm_ … Remus commanded … _it can only harm if you believe it can_ …

So against his every instinct, Harry did as ordered – and instead of teeth he felt the icy cold he normally associated with Hogwart's ghosts as the dragon dissolved into nothing just as it would have bitten into his torso.

But Tom was ready … by the time the dragon was gone he had shifted around and was commanding a string of Fiendfyre, which slithered toward Harry like an angry basilisk.

=go away,= Harry commanded as he spun out of its path. It didn't obey the order, but its slight hesitation gave Harry enough time to call, "gelus angusto", encasing the fiery serpent with a hard blanket of ice. The result was impressive. Instead of melting, the ice seemed to freeze the flames, making the string of fire a solid object. No longer weightless, it fell to the floor where it shattered into thousands of shards of tiny flames, which sizzled and evaporated in the span of seconds.

Harry immediately followed up with Snape's bone-melding curse, putting Tom on the defensive for the first time. Riddle managed to get a shield up, but stumbled backward as the spell rebounded. They traded several nasty cutting, blasting, and burning curses, neither causing serious injury to their opponent, though Harry couldn't help but think his spells seemed to pack a much heftier punch then his enemy's.

For the first time, their battle was quite equally matched. What Harry lacked in dark arts he made up for with the sheer force behind his spells. It was a phenomenon he's noticed from time to time – that the closer to the surface his emotions were, the more powerful his spells became. And here, in this room of love (and loved ones) he couldn't have suppressed his emotions if Snape was offering him an Outstanding to do it.

"_Oppugno_!" he called out, and while Tom dealt with the attacking birds, "_deplevi_."

The spell grazed the top of Tom's head, causing blood to spout from his nose-slits, tear ducts and ears.

Before Harry could follow up with a third spell, Tom disappeared in a swirl. For one precious second, Harry felt Tom try to take control of his body, but in the very next second a chorus of voices joined his own as he shouted "GET OUT" … and his mind was his own again as he balanced on shaky legs.

By the time Harry had steadied himself, Tom had reappeared and had dispelled the blood-letting curse. Wiping drops away from his eye, he called out in an almost desperate voice, "you destroy me, you destroy yourself. Do you really want to die?"

"Oh … are you still thinking I'm one of your horcruxes? I'm afraid you've made quite the mistake – _confringo_ – but I do thank you for believing otherwise. Mighty helpful, you ordering your people to keep me safe. Thanks for that – _protego horribilis_!"

… _don't tell him that_ …Sirius admonished, but he was drown out by others …  
… _finish him_ … a chorus of voices … _it's time_ …  
… _finish it, sweetheart_ … Lily encouraged … _finish him and be free_ …

Harry chose a vicious spell that was part cutting curse and part blasting hex. "Consectum!" A bullet of midnight blue sped toward Tom – whose shield wasn't strong enough – it struck just below Tom's left shoulder, ripping robes and flesh open as it traveled outward, finally stopping when the damaged area was the size of a dinner plate.

"YOU DARE! You … you …_sectumsempra_ … _deplevi_ … _glacius_ … _expulso_."

Harry managed to dodge the first spell and somehow vanished the second. The third barely grazed his left shoulder, leaving a cold weakness Harry tried his best to ignore so he could rebound the last curse back toward its caster – and a clearly enraged Tom had to jump to avoid his own curse.

"Consectum," Harry shouted again, but Tom simply moved away as he did something Harry had only read about in theory. Calling forth a whip of fire, Tom somehow split the spell in two so that twin streams of fire slowly weaved toward Harry, like cautious snakes in the grass seeking their prey.

Harry could remember that water of any kind had no effect such fires … he knew he had seconds to act … they were moving apart now, coming to surround him … and he remembered – he needed to interrupt the flow of energy from the wand.

He quickly conjured a couple of black bowling balls which he sent directly toward Tom's wand. A millisecond later, bits of black shrapnel flew in every direction as a great gust of air rushed past him. He banished the debris … and suddenly felt like his entire body had been stuck into an electrical outlet as violet energy sizzled across his skin. The pain was every bit as intense as the Cruciatus, but hurt in a different way. It was strongest where it had hit mid-thigh but quickly spread everywhere, and when it reached every nerve in his body it was as if a circuit had been completed, triggering a powerful full-body seizure. Harry collapsed, his head hitting the floor with a resounding _crack_. His wand dropped from his hand and innocently rolled away, coming to a stop when it bumped into Tom's foot.

Tom, as was his way, watched in amusement as his spell ravaged his victim, outright laughing as the tremors died away. Harry, fighting to keep his focus, decided at that moment that if evil had a sound, it was Tom Riddle's laughter.

He felt weak as a kneazle kit. His hands kept twitching, his heart felt like it was beating out of rhythm, and he was having serious trouble getting his legs to move the way he wanted them to. And Tom kept laughing.

Managing to roll onto his stomach, Harry tried to pull his body forward. He knew he'd never make it but he had to try to get to his wand. "Look at you now," Voldemort goaded. "So much for the great and powerful wizard! You're as useless as a Muggle without your wand."

Supporting himself on one forearm, Harry reached his right hand forward and cried "Accio wand!"

But Voldemort was quicker … perhaps he worried (rightly so) that Harry was capable of such wandless magic, or perhaps he simply loved the show … either way, his foot slammed down on the wand, holding it in place.

Harry's strength gave out and he slumped back to the ground, rolling onto his side and panting.

"It will not kill you, this curse, Harry – you really must think me a fool to believe you could rid yourself of a piece of my immortal soul – but many have begged for death under its thrall." Tom chuckled, stepping closer as he preached. "Dumbledore should be proud of himself! It was he, after all, who told me there are things worse than death."

Harry turned to look at his foe and glimpsed his wand, now abandoned on the ground.

"I sought them out," Tom continued, "these things worse than death. What you are experiencing is but a taste of the fruits of my labor."

But Harry ignored the taunts to concentrate on finding a way to get his wand.

… _you don't need it, son …_  
… _just let the magic flow, lad …_

'_I can't. I need my wand!'_

… _you've done it before …_  
… _your wand will answer to you …_  
… _concentrate enough and the magic will find the wand … _

Voldemort, who was now standing near Harry's head, bent down close to his face. "You had a good run, Harry Potter. I will give you your due; you certainly lasted longer than I ever would have expected. But all good things must come to an end." He stood and stepped back, standing straight and tall with his wand pointed at his prey, like the viper he was, preparing to strike. "I'm going to punish you now, Harry, for lying to Lord Voldemort. And then I'm going to put you to sleep while I find a way to undo the ritual you performed. You will be my _beloved_ horcrux again. Let that thought comfort you for eternity. _Crucio_."

The pain was surprisingly light, no doubt an effect of the earlier curse, but Harry could feel his limbs jerking uncontrollably. His head, however, stayed clear and pain free. The confusing contradiction of sensations made it hard to concentrate. On the outside, his body arched and twitched – his head smacking into the floor and his nails digging into the palms of his hands. But on the inside,

… _you can do this, Harry _… his Mum urged  
… _end it_ … Sirius added

"I … c-c-can't."

… _you can …_ Uncle Abe insisted  
… _just concentrate on what you want to do_ … Remus explained  
… _concentrate_ … his Mum repeated

and right on top of that, his father's voice,

… _we love you, son. We believe in you_ …

And the spell ended and the voices inside Harry's mind went quiet.

"How was that, Harry Potter? Did you enjoy your last taste of magic?"

From his place on the ground, still shaking from the effects of Tom's curses, Harry let himself fall onto his back. "Know what I'd enjoy, Tom?" he asked in a tired voice. He didn't even bother to look at his enemy, instead addressing his words to the space above, where he thought he could still see beams of light cutting through the mist. "You. Gone. That's what I'd enjoy. I want you gone … I _need_ you gone … then they can rest and I can live. Think you can give me that, Tom?"

The thought suddenly filled his entire being. If he was to live – not just survive, but truly live – if he was to save Albus – his Dad … and Ginny and the Weasleys and baby Teddy and everyone who ever mattered to him … Tom Riddle needed to be gone. It was that simple. It wasn't about hate and revenge or even justice, it was about love and protection.

Tom, confident he had won, confident the weakened Harry Potter had no fight left in him, began preparing to administer the Endless Slumber potion, unaware of the epiphany his victim was having.

The Killing Curse, Harry realized, was as good as useless against Voldemort. Not because of his horcruxes (though those certainly helped), but because the average wizard was too afraid of him to harness the required hate for the spell. As for people like himself and Albus ... ironically, it was Bellatrix who had given him that answer years ago. Righteous anger wasn't enough, and that's all decent people had.

… _you understand_ … his Dad sounded so proud

Suddenly calm despite the continuing tremors, having figured out what he needed to do, Harry twisted his head around and spotted his wand, lying forgotten on the floor just beyond Voldemort. It was pointing directly at the snake-man, which whould have been odd to Harry, if he'd taken the time to think on it.

Tom was stepping closer, a small cloth in his hand. Harry locked his vibrant green eyes with Voldemort's red ones. "Neither can live while the other survives," he quoted, practically laughing in a slighly unhinged fashion. "So simple. Because you're not really alive. It's stolen blood and bones and dark magic that's keeping you here with the living. You've been stealing life. But not anymore, Tom! I'm taking back what's mine … I'm reclaiming everything you've stolen … undo what you've done and … JUST … BE … GONE!"

As he shouted the words, _something_ built up inside his chest and he would swear he could feel his wand in his hand. Then, as his last word ended, the feeling exploded and a bolt of lightening burst from Harry's wand, striking Riddle in the heel and spreading up his body in a flash and fizzle of pure energy until his entire body seemed to be covered in living white static. And then, as Harry watched in awe and perhaps even a bit of horror, the energy – acting like a living thing – gathered itself into a ball directly over Tom's heart.

Tom dropped the cloth as he tried to push the ball away, but his hand was repelled … he tried to vanish it only to have his spell absorbed into the sphere. And when the last of the raw power had been collected, it shot forward and torn into the very heart of the monster.

Tom screamed as he was lifted into the air … his wand clattered to the floor and rolled away unnoticed … and before Harry's unbelieving eyes the suspended body seemed to flicker between an image of young Tom Riddle, sixteen and handsome and whole, and an oily snake of putrid grey and muddy brown. It writhed, arms clawing at its own skin as blood and something else - something thick and inky - dripped from the form. An unearthly scream filled the room.

… _Harry_ … his mother's voice frantically called out …  
… _live_ … his father commanded

Then the Riddle form pulsed with a white light that exploded outward and Harry felt a blast of heat and cold and wetness and energy flood his body and he knew no more.

**** end chapter ****

**Notes: **To be clear – Harry wasn't giving Tom a chance to beg forgiveness and save his miserable life. Tom had to die, pure and simple. Harry was giving him a chance to open his heart to love, thereby finding his humanity and possibly restoring his soul. As Sirius said, we all knew it wouldn't work, but Harry, being Harry, had to try.

I have to say, I'd completely forgotten Canon!Harry giving Tom a similar chance in DH. I only read it that one time, all in one day (that same day I got it at midnight, of course), and some of the finer points were lost in my sleep-deprived mind. I do think the difference in mine – specifically trying to get Tom to acknowledge love – is a big one, though, and I think Albus would agree. After all, it was love, not remorse, that was Harry's power.

I put a great deal of thought into what spell Harry would ultimately use, and decided quite some time ago he would create his own magic. There is precedent in the books – Dumbledore performed magic never seen before when he took his NEWTS, and Snape was creating spells as a 6th year. Add that to Harry's 'emotion based' magic, and there you have it.

**Spells this chapter:**

Alarte ascendare – yes, I used Lockhart's spell from the movie. Deal with it.

Consectum – a creation of Snape's; part cutting curse, part blasting hex, all nastiness. Probably would be considered dark, but I'm not telling if you're not.

Glacius – a freezing spell borrowed from a HP games.

Gelus angusto – counter for Fiendfyre. There has to be one, right? Roughly translates to 'ice prison'.

Deplevi – makes a person 'bleed out' through all the body's orifices.

**BONUS:** I had to cut the best line of the entire chapter because it contained a pop culture reference that Tom, having left the Muggle world for good in the 1940s, would not have known. But it was too good to delete, so here it is … from Harry's little speech about Merope's love:

Harry: "All you have to do is accept her love and she'd be here for you right now. And the smoke and the darkness, they would disappear."

Tom: "And my heart will grow three sizes, I suppose?"


End file.
